The hands on the clock inched closer to twelve,
inched closer to restarting a never ending cycle.
They inched closer towards another tomorrow,
moving relentlessly forward for all of eternity.
The smaller hand moved quicker,
mirroring the solid thump thump
of a lone figure hitting a red punching bag.
She should be punching Hiiragizawa,
she reminded herself.
For hurting Sakura.
Now I'm punching myself,
she told the wall.
For falling for him.
I want to punch him,
she cried.
For leaving with another.
The hands struck twelve,
and the figure continued to pound away.
She fell, grabbing the swaying pillar and hoping
uselessly
that tomorrow would never come.