The sound of my fists smacking the punching bag echoed through the empty gym. Each blow sent the bag swinging like a pendulum. James Tyson, a hulking mass of muscle who owned the building, circled me, scowling as he watched.“Back off. You’re going to break it,” he ordered, placing one thick hand against the punching bag and stilling it. He pinned me with a glare not meant to intimidate or scold, but press the importance of his words. He was the only person outside of Tyler’s close circle to know about my ability, as well as my strength and speed. Every day he worked with me, helping me understand my body so I could learn to keep myself in check and not accidentally hurt someone. “You’re slipping. Remember, you are the master of your body. This is your gift. Control it.”
I nodded, took a deep breath, and resumed my workout. A fine sheen of sweat covered me, my muscles were loose and limber, and my heart pumped steadily. I let myself fall into the sound my fists made, listening only for James’s command. When he finally gave the okay to stop, I pulled my left fist back, letting my strength loose and hitting the punching bag with everything I had. The chain snapped and it flew through the air, landing on the other side of the room.
James’s laughter boomed across the gym. “I expect you to pick that up so I can rehang it. Again.”
I grinned sheepishly.
Twenty minutes later, the punching bag hung from a shiny, new chain and I was free to hit the shower. Jaden was waiting on the gym front steps with his two brothers, Marcel and Terrance. Our gazes danced carefully as I held my hand out to help my cousin to his feet. I wasn’t as lucky when I turned to Marcel. Images rushed over me like a stampede.
Marcel next to a young woman in a hospital bed.
Doctors and nurses surrounding them.
A little being wrapped in blue.
“Cyc, you okay, man?” Marcel’s voice cut into the visions.
I tore my gaze away and pressed my hands to my forehead, Pain buzzed, but it was a tolerable, dull throb. “Yeah, I’m a good. Just a little tired from my workout. Let’s go.”
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About Patricia Lynn:
My obsession with creativity started with art. Inspired by my grandpa's oil paintings, I began drawing. Throughout high school, art was my favorite class. In fact, when it came to writing, I didn't think I was good at it. A college essay seemed to agree.On a whim and bored one day, I started writing a story bouncing in my head. Riddled with plot holes, I didn't care. It was for fun. After that story, I began writing more until I came to the idea for Being Human. The story struck me as one other people might enjoy, so I began taking writing seriously, researching how to improve, and editing. My art days are behind me, but that's okay because a new creative pleasure has consumed my life.
I currently live in Upper Michigan with my husband, enjoy dying my hair the color of the rainbow, and hope to have what resembles a small petting zoo one day. When I'm not writing or at the day job, I'm goofing off on Twitter, or reading about serial killers.
Hello. Thanks for hosting me during the BBF.
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