Something hits you, shoving you off balance, but it doesn't hurt. Not yet. Your knuckles bleed after you have thrown them hard, really hard, at that h...ad, but they don't hurt either. The 'red mist' is real, although it's not actually red. You really can't see. You don't know what you are tearing at, hitting at, breaking. A body has weight, the weight of a slab of dead meat as you punch into it. Time doesn't slow down; oh no, each swing and lurch and gasp takes all the time there is and no time. ‘Ray drools over every other chick he sees. I…I hate going anywhere with him.’ She shuddered a little and a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye. ‘Just once I’d like to think someone really means it when they say I’m pretty.’ ‘What makes you think I don’t mean it?’ Rod asked. Donna started to cry. ‘Be…because…’ Then her sobs made it impossible for her to continue talking. Rod figured it was time to make his move. He stepped closer to Donna and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face. More

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