Her fists slowly became covered in blood as Mizue kept whaling away at the bound husband; old bruises and welts became fresh with marks, stitched wounds began to open, and the man’s cries and pleas were muffled from the cloth in his mouth.
With her arms getting tired and needing a moment to catch her breath, Mizue punched him one last time in the jaw, dislodging a tooth. She backed away and rested her bloodied hands on her hips, mumbling, “God, that was a stress reliever.”
She looked back at her battered husband in disgust, I gotta patch him up.
Copyright © 2019 by Luka Tatsujo