Scarlet
The sun hung low in the sky, bleeding streaks of pale orange and deep purple across the horizon. Wisps of clouds stretched thin, casting a muted haze over the landscape as twilight crept closer. The scent of damp earth clung to the cool breeze, mingling with the crisp bite of pine that filled my lungs with every controlled breath.
My fists collided with the worn old training bag again, the dull thud vibrating up my arms, echoing in the silent clearing. The rhythm of impact was steady, repetitive, almost hypnotic.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The weight of the bag barely shifted beneath my relentless punches, its tattered canvas damp from sweat and weather. Sand leaked from a few small tears, evidence of how much this poor thing had already endured under my frustration.
But I didn't stop
