The steel felt good beneath his hands, each blow echoing like a confirmation of existence.
Knowledge had built the world around him, and given him the tools to understand what he felt and why. But knowledge wasn’t a tap in the barrel of his chest to drain away the adrenaline poisoning his taste and spasming his muscles.
Fight or flight. One can neither run from problems of words and thoughts, nor defeat them with a weapon.
He knew when the pain from others faded, the pain in his knuckles would seem failure; but the steel felt good beneath his hands.