A/N: Sorry I'm late guys. I've been away to Belgium on a History Trip with my school learning loads. I'll try to update LIT, for all who're reading it, not many though I presume. Just a little tid-bit as I wanted to write a poem. Got to go, have a good one!
READ AND REVIEW, IT'S THE COOL THING TO DO!
DISCLAIMER: Sorry, I don't own them. Just that piece of paper. Oh, wait I don't own that even. Darn!
The Mask : A Piece of Paper
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He lashed out with his foot,
Fluid movements striking the dummy.
It crashed against the wall,
And then he struck again,
His right hand flat as he hit,
Slamming against a would-be pressure point,
Knocking the dummy onto the ground.
It bounced up quickly,
Nearly crashing into his face, but no,
He was too fast, too quick,
As he struck it again,
This time with his kneecap,
Straight into a foam abdomen.
Once again against the floor, then rising.
His fist caught it in the head,
A sheet of paper taped on flying off,
The boy bent to retrieve it,
His raven locks falling into his face,
Sweat matting the hair onto his brow.
He picked up the paper,
Ripped and torn, placing it on the dummy.
He started again, whack, punch, slam,
And he was back to destroying the dummy,
The paper clung on to dear life,
It's photograph wrinkled and creased,
But still obvious as to the intended victim.
The boy aimed purposefully at the head,
Taking the change of substance with ease.
The photograph was kind in comparison,
The paper thin and tearing,
Whereas a mask would have been painful,
The copper hazardous to knuckles.
And as the boy continued beating the sheet,
The mask flopped back, and forth,
And the eye kept on staring forward.
Soon the paper fell again,
The grates in the mask greeting floor,
And the boy reached down,
And grabbed an ear to lift it up again,
Sticking the poor thing to the dummy,
And lashing out in anger again.
His fist met grate, eye, ear,
Still the mask didn't speak or complain.
He did this until someone came for him,
Walking into the gym,
Telling him that someone needed him,
Then he left,
Leaving the messenger to stay,
Picking up the mask, or sheet of paper,
And dropping it in the bin with a frown.
The left then, following the boy,
As a mastermind watched through a camera,
The boy brutally beat the mask and dummy,
Until duty called once more,
And the boy left.
He returned the next day, with a new mask,
The mastermind only checking in periodically,
Along with friends bearing things such as food.
Now and then,
The mask was left to stare,
And watch the room,
As it's true owner watched it from time to time,
Wondering and thinking,
Just like the boy who struck the mask.
A/N: Hope that everyone has a good one, review please! Remember, authors survive off of reviews!