The Old punching bag...

Tokka entered the sparring room where he had spend most of his night if his mind was troubled. He looked upon to see if anything had change, minor things did but nothing too big had change in this room, before he was about to leave he saw his old nemesis, the punching bag. Tokka slowly walked up to the old thing and brushed his hand slowly against it. He smirked at all the times he would punch the hell out of this thing and it would just take his anger and frustration. He wondered what Ada did to this thing to make it so damn durable.

A small smirk creep on his face as he took off his leather jacket and tossed it on the bench and started to punch the punching bag again, his fist were in motion as the punching bag would jerk around with every blow it took from Tokka's fist. For once Tokka was not punching the bag out of anger, frustration, depression, or to let steam out, he was just simply punching it to remember the one memory he had in this room with his sister giving him advice. sweat started to flow down on the sides of his cheeks as he continued to punch the bag until finally with his last jab at the bag his fist went through it, the sand quickly escaping the bag.

He panted slowly watching the sand spill from its container and he smiled gently at the fact that he kind of broke the punching bag. He then went to pick up his jacket and threw it behind his shoulder and headed for the door, going to see his old room. The sound of the sand escaping the bag continued...