Beating

I want a punching bag. Something to get all the hurt out. Maybe if I just hit something hard enough, it'll all go away . . . maybe if I just hit me hard enough . . .
This is when I want to run more than anything. To get away from it. But my body refuses to cooperate. I could be stuck in a wheelchair for all the difference it makes now.
"I have a split lip, a black eye, and a bloody nose. My arms are too tired to lift, and my legs no longer respond to my mind signals, telling them to move. I am an open target, a sitting duck. And he stands above me and raises his fist. And there's nothing I can do to stop him. It descends on me. Once, twice, he doesn't stop. I don't want him to stop. For as long as he beats me, I feel Something . . ."