Alone

She looks at the skin straining across her knuckles. Tense, bones standing out in relief. The hands of a stranger. A deep breath, carefully controlled. Inhale. Exhale. To the count of eight. It does nothing to ease the tautness of her left shoulder, the deltoids poised for imminent combat. Another deep breath as she wills her body to obey, but the fury sweeps through unabated. A swift roll of the shoulder leaves it unyielding. She focuses her mind on her fists. She grits her teeth and breathes slowly and deeply. All at once, she can feel the sting of a clam shells on her palms, now a dull, throbbing ache. It's like dealing with rigor and she forces her fingers to open. The joints protest as they reluctantly unfurl into claws. She gazes unseeing at her palms, the crescent marks livid against the slowly returning blood. Why doesn't she feel cleansed by the white heat of rage sweeping through her? The desire to hurt still crippling her, holding her in its thrall. Anger won't bring back what's lost. She knows that. But it won't leave her be, snaking around her, squeezing her tighter and tighter, gnawing away at her, each breath hurting more. Her mind is able to catalogue the yawning chasm between the two pure emotions. Joy. Hate. Creation. Destruction. She knows it will turn everything to ashes, but can only helplessly watch it swamp her being, drowning her, choking her. She wants to fight it, but still hasn't recovered from the last battle. The irony gouges out a harsh laugh. She gave it her all and it wasn't enough. Now, there's nothing left to give. Nothing but fear, pain and anger. She's empty inside. Alone. Her nostrils flare and her tongue flicks over her lips unnoticed, her attention captivated by the bright red rivulet welling it's way down her ankle. So different from the dark, sticky, congealing pool under her left foot.