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A series of dull thuds ring through an empty WWA gym. A worn, sore and physically and mentally exhausted Mighty Milf stands in front of a boxing bag, sweat rolling down her forehead as she rains down punch after bare knuckle punch into her target.
A quick glance to the side reveals an unsent letter adressed to Claire Night makes her flinch as she throws another punch, throwing out anger and sorrow to the point that one of her knuckles starts to bleed.
Taking a step back she observes the small cut on her bruised knuckles and promptly wraps them with a bit of tape. Only to throw out more punches.
Fatigue eventually kicks in as she leans her forehead against the boxing bag, beads of sweat as well as tears rolling down her face and onto the ground.
>Not good enough
She mumbles to herself as she gets some air back into her lungs and leans back for another set. For the next half an hour, more dull thuds echo through the building.
>If I'm gonna go I'm gonna bring my pocket knife.
