Theea
resilient little thing, just like mama raised you
He takes the hit with hardly a huff of air, and I try not to feel the flash of guilt. It was easy with my parents, harder with other people for some reason. He mentions how I punched Soh, and my ears turn red. ”Trust me, that was an accident. Sohalia was innocent.”
He laughs, and I feel it in my chest like a spark catching, and I grin back. But then he says he’s going to respond, and something tightens behind my ribs.
“Right, not a problem,” I chirp.
I’ve taken plenty of hits—real ones. Mom never pulled punches when she was training me. Dad didn’t either, when I was younger. They always said if I was going to survive out in the world, I needed to know what it felt like. So I do.
Still, there’s a different kind of pressure when it’s him. But I don’t let it slow me.
I exhale, hard and short through my nose, and move.
One pivoting step to the left—half a feint, not quite committed—just enough to test whether he bites. Then I drive forward, low and fast, shoulder down and core tight, my fist angling up to strike just beneath the breastbone. It’s clean, sharp, designed to knock the wind out of someone if I’m lucky.
There’s no fear in the swing—just focus. I plant my feet, twist through my hips, and aim to connect.
He laughs, and I feel it in my chest like a spark catching, and I grin back. But then he says he’s going to respond, and something tightens behind my ribs.
“Right, not a problem,” I chirp.
I’ve taken plenty of hits—real ones. Mom never pulled punches when she was training me. Dad didn’t either, when I was younger. They always said if I was going to survive out in the world, I needed to know what it felt like. So I do.
Still, there’s a different kind of pressure when it’s him. But I don’t let it slow me.
I exhale, hard and short through my nose, and move.
One pivoting step to the left—half a feint, not quite committed—just enough to test whether he bites. Then I drive forward, low and fast, shoulder down and core tight, my fist angling up to strike just beneath the breastbone. It’s clean, sharp, designed to knock the wind out of someone if I’m lucky.
There’s no fear in the swing—just focus. I plant my feet, twist through my hips, and aim to connect.
so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know
