Fighting

Brandon flexed his hand after wrapping it up with his hand tape, making sure that he hadn't accidentally limited his finger mobility. It had been a long time since he had, but he still routinely checked, just to make sure. He got up and lifted his punching bag, hooking it up to its spot on the ceiling. Once it was free hanging, he patted it down, cleaning the dust off of it and making sure that there were no tears or other unseemly problems.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Brandon stepped back and cracked his neck and knuckles, bouncing on his toes and warming himself up. A quick jab lead into two, and then three, until he was throwing long combos of mixed punches into the bag, the dull thumps of taped skin on thick leather reverberating throughout the room. Brandon moved slowly in circles around the bag, coming at it from varying angles, trying to change up his approach with every string, so as to keep himself fresh and not relying too much on any one pattern.

"Hey, Brandon?" a voice came from the door. Brandon didn't respond, continuing to move around the bag and punch away. "Why do you always train on a punching bag like that?" the voice continued. "You're not a fighter. You don't go to tournaments or anything like that. So what's the point?"

Brandon slammed the last punch in his combo into the bag, then grabbed it to stop its swinging. He looked to the door to see his sister, Anna, leaning against the door frame, watching him. Her face clearly displayed her confusion and disapproval. "What's wrong with wanting to be prepared?" he asked her. "You know how in the movies, there's always that moment where the guy has to protect the people around him and uses the skills he's trained his whole life to do it? If and when that moment comes for me, I want to be ready."

"That moment's not gonna come, Brandon," his sister said bitterly. "Moments like those are only ever seen in movies for a reason, bro. They don't happen in real life."

"You can say that all you want, Anna, but the fact remains that I would rather be prepared for something that won't happen, then unprepared and have it come up." Brandon stepped away from the bag and picked up his water bottle and took a long swig of water from it. "Besides," he continued, "it feels good to go in and fight the bag. Gets rid of tension. Keeps me in shape."

"You'd be better off with that if you had a real partner, you know."

"I know. But unless you want to get some gear on and fight me, I'm gonna stick with the bag." Brandon looked at his sister for a moment, challenging her to accept his proposition with his eyes. After a while, she simply shrugged in response.

"I wouldn't be able to keep up in a fight with you," she said.

"That's the goal."