"Off record, go break something. You will feel better." My therapist gave me some unsolicited advice right before I left, along with a free session. She claims it has the potential to serve as catharsis. Her husband also passed away, and she found comfort in participating in a similar activity. An aged black pickup truck crashed his horse with him on it, and she dealt with the loss by buying the vehicle from an auction to bash it. It strengthened her. Why not?

I step through the patches of grassy dandelions, savoring their softness beneath my feet. I make my way toward an old abandoned courthouse, twirling my wooden bat. Rage rooms charge eighty-five dollars for every twenty minutes. I need a couple of days and free service. This building is on schedule to be demolished next week. I didn't hold my breath to take full advantage.

As I come to pass a tree, an object feathered and lifeless is near the trunk bottom cavity, halfway in the hole. I checked out the bird, marveling at its large, impressive appearance. It's a hawk for sure, but what kind? I pluck my device from my sweat pocket, googling northern hawks. Eurasian Goshawk is what appeared in the engine - the phantom of the forest. I gazed at the pale gray, beautiful creature. What a dedicated animal living up to his name.

I noticed around the ankle a thin red thread knotted into a loose bow. Hmph may have belonged to someone. Poor guy. I kneeled down to examine the frame for the cause of death. I see no injuries, but I'm not about to touch it either for a full exam. Hopefully, whatever attacked it won't come after me. I rise, pulling up my sweat pants, retying the tangle, because unfortunately I can't quite fit into my clothes the way I used to. His ending took an unexpected toll on me.

I wander through the warehouse, the ceiling slowly decays, molded, peeling like wet cardboard. Reckon ball size holes in brick walls, old sheet rock, and silica dust piled in corners throughout the halls. I see a few windows I can bust and use pipes to rupture the sheetrock. I enter an open room with a chair standing on three legs in the center.

Perfect setting to rage alone with my thoughts, mourning my shortcomings. How I know this world isn't fair, but damn it, it doesn't mean I have to accept it right away. I gear up in my Boiler Suit Coveralls, slipping on thick padded gloves and goggles. Safety first. As I zip up my suit, I pick up a dragging foot sliding gravel against the concert, resonating through these empty walls. My arresting gaze had his hands in the air.

"Sorry to barge in on you, but I never seen you hear before." A towering twenty something year old man, more on the slim side, well fitted punk rocker pants and a long smooth black jean trench. His slightly short spiked hair matched his irises like a photocopy, strand matte, eyes glossed.

"No, my apologies. Um, cough, who are you? No disrespect."

"I'm sorry I startled you. My name is Soren Badger. The owl out back is mine, and I was coming in for the shovel."

"How did it pass?" My lip quivered.

"A bobcat caught her right before she took off. I tried to save it, but it was too late, clearly." He put his fist on his hipbone, releasing his head to the floor and seeing the crown. "Can I?" He directed to the closest, snagging a shovel and a brief wave with it in the air. "I got it."

More quivers as I checked out the man that leads past me with no big deal. Of course, I follow him. There is no way he comes across like a criminal jailbird and then a collected cool individual. I climbed onto the rustic hole bench, eager to take a glimpse at him outside the window to figure out if he was telling the truth. The conflict between him and that tool needs to be detained with that kind of gibe, nearly smashing his foot.

"Need help?" I screamed as he puzzled and spotted me with a zesty smile.

"Thank you, that will be great!"

"I'll be right down." A few lefts and I were outside viewing from a distance as he continued to fondle the ground to puncture a space. I could have sworn four-year-olds learn how to dig pits. He detects me, waving me over. He must really not know. I put a pep in my step to discern if this man can't penetrate a freaking hole. He comes across as a guy who cracks out on protein shakes and hoots in your ear on the sidewalk for fun.

"Just in time, I think. I need your help." Soren licked up to catch the stream of sweat in the indentation of his upper lip. He's sweating... but where's the heat and the work that earned the sweat? I grasped the wooden stem from his hand, speaking with my feelings to show - really man? It brought him to a chuckle, as though I caught him off guard.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, so, I'm struggling with that."

"I can see that." I bear the burden. "How deep do you want it?"

"Pretty deep." I halted and stared at him with his vast eyes. "What?" he threw up his shoulders. "Whatever happens, understand you performed it well."

"Excuse me?" I remained straight, eyeing him funny.

"What I am saying is that I got it." He slightly bowed to me and snatched the trowel off a short stump and kneeled, shoveling it easy. Gently, he picked up the hawk and kissed it on its forehead, then deposited it carefully inside the handmade grave. A part of me was confused but felt remorseful for him. He must have loved that bird.

"I'll finish it." I squatted to scoop the soil on top of the belly. Bora flashed memories that crossed my mind. Almost as though I could touch him.

"What a sweet, valuable woman like yourself at a warehouse alone? Are you normally this reckless?"

I glanced over my shoulders. "Valuable?"

"Indeed, all creatures are. It is how the world goes around."

"Everyone, bring their share." I stood up at a gradual pace to face him, with a bit of queasiness in my gut.

"I am not speaking all, only one. So careful, there are sinful men that hunt deers."

"Good thing I'm not a deer." I pressed past him to get out of the uncomfortable situation and poor aura leaking into the air, airing me out. Of course, he trails along. I need to come up with a plan that doesn't kick start his adrenaline to attack me. "Why the suit?" He sought behind.

"To raise hell." I seized my sturdy bat, leaning against the doorway making eye contact that lets him know I sense what you're doing, but my stare isn't alarming. The point is to make him question. I learned this from Malinda along with a few other life-saving techniques. If he attempts anything. I'm battering the skull for a home run. "Why are you here?" I asked, kicking off the wall, searching through the rooms for a precise spot to vandalize. With him lingering around or not, I am determined to release my pinned emotions. Probably on him. He couldn't even dig a darn hole. I can take this guy.

"I like to bring my bird here for hunting where it's quiet. No one to bother. No one to hear."

He's ridiculous with his innuendos. I nodded my head and swung at the first window, receiving the enjoyment of the glass shattering, but it was to present my skills. Then golfed the end table in my path to teach him I don't miss causing obnoxious surround sound that will produce discomfort in the ears. He stood in derisive amusement as though he read me the way I read him. I kept crushing things because it wasn't even about him anymore; it was about what I have been bearing, not influenced by him, Quinn, Malinda, or anyone's opinions. It was all me.

In a moment of weakness, I say, "No matter how deep the bruise is, it gets further than what you thought before. You reach the realization that you have to let pass, which makes you aware that the wound runs deeper than you originally anticipated. You stay still because letting go is too hard." I faced him, but he disappeared. Rude. I was chattering to myself the entire time.

Is this a sign that Colorado is not the right place for me? Unsure what his attentions are, but maybe what I said changed his heart, or my so far gone depressive state is informing me I am past the desire to be harmed. Whatever the case there is, I need to fly because I love my life too.

This is my cue to leave.