It feels different this time.
Her hands thud into a bag likely heavier than she is, over and over and over. Machine-like, no love and no spirit. The same as she's ever hit the bag. She can feel the bruises forming around her knuckles same as they ever do. The bag barely moves. The bag always barely moves. All the same, but with every aspect taken into account, it's still somehow different.
It shouldn't be different, says her internal voice, as she steps back from the bag. Is it the time of year? No, the internal shakes in disagreement. Her head tilts, assessing the bag. Maybe it's the quiet of the village, with the tournament drawing away faculty, alumni, and student alike. Maybe it's just part of the life. Her academic kin, they're changing too, aren't they? They must feel like things are changing too. If you could... if you could reach out and ask them... if you could connect with even one of them, Matsuko.
Her hand reels in reverse, fingers clenching as they are drawn back by the yanking, dominating force of her elbow. It's like a bow being readied for the arrow. Pure potential energy, hanging in the air for a second, until it shifts; her whole body shifts with it, forward, hurtling behind the punch.
The bag only moves perhaps an inch or two beyond its usual stance. The change would be imperceptible to anyone with higher standards or slower eyes. To Matsuko even, it's nothing to be proud of. It's pathetic, even. All this time and she's just finding the energy and freedom to learn her physical self.
But it tells her what she needs to know; there's a degree of strength to aim at for her success. There's a goal forming.
Her eyes, heavy and gold, narrow.
One day, she'll blow this goddamn thing off the chain it hangs from.
WC: 316
Her hands thud into a bag likely heavier than she is, over and over and over. Machine-like, no love and no spirit. The same as she's ever hit the bag. She can feel the bruises forming around her knuckles same as they ever do. The bag barely moves. The bag always barely moves. All the same, but with every aspect taken into account, it's still somehow different.
It shouldn't be different, says her internal voice, as she steps back from the bag. Is it the time of year? No, the internal shakes in disagreement. Her head tilts, assessing the bag. Maybe it's the quiet of the village, with the tournament drawing away faculty, alumni, and student alike. Maybe it's just part of the life. Her academic kin, they're changing too, aren't they? They must feel like things are changing too. If you could... if you could reach out and ask them... if you could connect with even one of them, Matsuko.
Her hand reels in reverse, fingers clenching as they are drawn back by the yanking, dominating force of her elbow. It's like a bow being readied for the arrow. Pure potential energy, hanging in the air for a second, until it shifts; her whole body shifts with it, forward, hurtling behind the punch.
The bag only moves perhaps an inch or two beyond its usual stance. The change would be imperceptible to anyone with higher standards or slower eyes. To Matsuko even, it's nothing to be proud of. It's pathetic, even. All this time and she's just finding the energy and freedom to learn her physical self.
But it tells her what she needs to know; there's a degree of strength to aim at for her success. There's a goal forming.
Her eyes, heavy and gold, narrow.
One day, she'll blow this goddamn thing off the chain it hangs from.
WC: 316