Hi guys! Wow! I've gotten quite a bit of views so far!
I actually have many chapters written, but I forgot to upload them. I'm thinking one a day for now? :)
Sorry that this is so short!
But thank you!

~Rae~

I scream as I punch the old wooden dummy. Black ink covers his torso, and written on it reads tall man in bold letters. The memory of that night is still in my head. My stomach lurches as if I might be sick. I unleash my anger and punch again, but I feel a shift. A cracking sound fills the room, and the dummy shatters. A yelp escapes my mouth, and I fall back. I wince and clench my teeth.

"FUCK!" I hiss.

I worked the dummy too hard, and wooden splinters have embedded themselves in my hand. The damage isn't too bad, but it will require some work to fix up. I pry a knife from my side holster. This is going to hurt. They have to come out though. As I pry and cut the splinters from my hand blood drips to the floor. It's not as bad as my last injury when I sprained my ankle a few months back. This should be a quick healing process. I get to the last wooden piece. It's the largest one and goes deep into my palm. I yank it out. More blood spatters to the floor, and I don't care. I just don't. This will not slow me down. Stronger. I need to be stronger, faster, better. Anger courses through me. I am so sick of being weak, a coward, a pathetic piece of factionless trash.

I jump to my feet and charge the punching bag closest to me. My fist connects. Pain sears through my wounded hand. A broken shriek fills the room, and I realize that it has come from my own mouth. I punch again with the same hand and hiss between my teeth. How can I let that garbage get to me to this day? I never had parents. No one was there to care for me. People took advantage of me at such a young age. The thing that really pisses me off is the fact that I didn't do anything about it. I punch again and again. Blood spatters everywhere, and my hand throbs. I don't care. I will my make this hand stronger this instant. Pain is not an option. Fear is not an option. The next punch connects with the bag, and I howl. I am on my knees. Tears are streaming down my face.

"WHY AM I SUCH A WASTE OF LIFE?!" I shout. It echoes all around. Spots cloud my vision. My body is tired, so I lay down right where I am not that I have a choice. My eyes close, and darkness surrounds me.