NEW WRITING:

He stretched open his fist so that it formed a hand, then closed it back to a fist again. He watched the movement of his hand, as if for the first time, as if that hand, that fist belonged to another boy, to another being altogether perhaps. He swivelled his fist, allowing it to capture the light. Sunlight flickered across his bruised and broken knuckles, sunlight formed pools within the hollows of his veined backhand. He smiled at the glory of it - his fist. He smiled at the stupidity of it - his fist. He shrugged, let the thought go, hitting the other boy full in the face - part fear, part glee - full in the face.