I stand there, staring at my reflection. Strange, almost alien patterns and writing in a language I've never seen before is all over my body, from my ankles to my fingers, various patterns streak across my usually blank skin. I'm not sure, but they seem to be labels, or instructions, for something. It's a weekend, and I was up late last night, perhaps I am dreaming. Changing from just underwear to some pajama pants, I walk out of my room. For a dream, this is incredibly lucid. Every detail is laid out, and as far as I can tell, nothing besides the tattoos are new, not even changed. I go to punch the sandbag on my way past it, as I usually do, but as I pull my hand back, I stop. The tattoos on the raised hand glow faintly, but their color changed entirely. It... burns, a little, almost, but somehow not the same. The light quickly fades after a moment, and I'm left confused. Alright, well, whatever. I refocus on the bag, the light returns, and loose a relatively light punch. As soon as my hand made contact and met resistance, it felt like a sledgehammer was being swung, within my arm. The light gets far brighter at the moment of impact. For such a light punch, the impact it made was far too great. The sandbag lurches, a small burn being etched into the surface, as it continues shaking and swinging.

I dont feel like writing more, it's the middle of the night, I'm tired.