That's how She felt, anyway.
She stood there, waiting. The sign for the bus stop wobblingly slightly in the wind. It's set poorly into the concrete. It's weak. She's strong. She can feel it.
She can feel Her fingers sink into the steel like it was wet clay. Hear the whine of metal as She twists and rips the pole from it's base. Feel heavy clang as She embeds the sign half way into the engine block of the passing police car. See their eyes go wide as the cops realize their guns refuse to fire. Smell the blood on Her claws after crushing their skulls.
It should be so easy.
She reaches out to the pole and gives it a gentle tug. Squeezes it with Her fingers.
Unyielding.
Maybe next time
