I didn’t plan to write today. But if I don’t get this out of my head, I might actually lose what’s left of my patience. Today was supposed to be simple. Information. A name. A face. Something anything about the man who killed my family. The condition was clear. If I wanted the information, I had to fight. I agreed. Without hesitation. This isn’t new to me. Violence has always been the price people demand. And that’s when they called him Phoenix. I don’t know his real name. Only that nickname everyone used while cheering like this was some kind of show. Strange. Loud. Reckless. And unbearably stupid. He smiled the entire time. In the middle of the fight he smiled. As if bruises were nothing. As if pain was entertainment. He fought well. Too well for someone who looks like he doesn’t think before acting. For a moment just a moment I almost killed him. I felt it clearly. That point where my hands stop listening to my mind. They had to restrain me. Again. This wasn’t my first fight. And it definitely wasn’t the first time I was thrown out because I went too far because I was this close to killing someone. But what truly set me off wasn’t the fight. It was what happened after. After blood, fists, and chaos, he reached out his hand. Smiling. And said he was glad we fought. Glad. As if this was something to enjoy. As if violence was a handshake. I didn’t take his hand. I didn’t even look at him. I left. And only when I got home did it hit me. I forgot the information. The entire reason I agreed to that fight gone. That realization filled me with a rage deeper than the exhaustion in my bones. Today left me drained. Not physically I’m used to that. But mentally. I don’t understand Phoenix. I don’t want to. And yet, his smile is still burned into my mind. That’s what bothers me the most.