Anger and The Coward

Anger is so very visible, charging down the street, audible for miles, giving you enough time to clear out so only have the deaf or sleeping remain in his path. He hurls himself toward you, yelling, rageous, be-spitted, swiping his fists at the air. In the eyes of the world he is a fool; he has lost control and control needs control, you know.
He fights by the rules. Even if Anger is hell-bent on killing you, he will kill you by the rules. When his fists pummel you to the ground he will kick and kick and kick at your body until your bones have been splintered and your flesh turned to pulp; only dental records will determine who you were. Although the rules of a “gentleman’s fight” may change over the decades, Anger adheres to however those rules have changed.

Independent and hollow through, The Coward does not fight by any rules. He is The Rule. The Coward will dig out your eyeballs. He will bite off your nose and tear off your ears and punch straight and true and strong into your windpipe; he was born with no regard for, nor respect of, ruled fighting. He stands timed by Darkness, his lover; as you walk home through the night he knows one day, eventually, you will take that turn into the dark alley shortcut. It does not matter if it is you or another one of you that steps in, one of you will. And if you happen to survive with any senses intact they will serve only to repeat the nightmare over and again, for the remainder of your life.