It danced on it’s chain like a puppet on a string. Every ounce of strength his body could supply while fueled by the Beast’s adrenalized rage, wen... into every punch. Like a windmill in a tornado, arms flailed wildly, rights and lefts landing with equal bone-crushing force sinking deeply into the two hundred pound, sand-filled canvas/leather bag. The Beast remembered every time he had been suppressed, with resentment, every fool who had challenged him, every idiot who had crossed him, every. I almost got sick to my stomach hearing that. These girls were all in tears by the time that they finished telling me their story. It probably felt good to actually tell someone the truth after all this time, but I encouraged each one of them to go for counseling. They all told me that they didn't want to deal with the police or their parents and they knew that they would have to if they talked to an adult. They were all underage and they didn't trust any adults to help them quietly.In the end. More

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