He swings the bat with the same force of a battering ram. Beating up a forgotten car that is stuck in a forgotten junkyard. It's hot, as beads of sweat cling to his skin.

Thunk.

Wood against metal. Each swing relies on a different tension of the shoulder. While each dent brings an unknown release.

Thunk, Thunk, Tin-kuh.

He breaks the windshield. The shattered glass falling like small diamonds into the dirt. Crunching under his feet.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk.

The swings are getting harder. But he picks up the pace.

Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk!

His arms are getting tired. His jaw is tighter. Each swing brings a new feeling of tension and release. Tension and release. Tension and release.

He has reached his limit.

He throws the bat to the ground. Walks away from the destroyed car. He only gets a few feet. His tall, limp stature falls to his knees. He looks up to the sky. And for the first time in a long time allows himself to cry. To sob that ugly sob that is only paired with the most intense of pain. Of loss.

Do you see the collateral beauty?