There's many types of rage.

Female rage...

Male rage...

Teen rage...?

Putting your life on line - Your sentence, or punishment was rather...unique, to be told.

"Every fight you put up will be taking one day from your remaining days until execution."

That's what they said. You were only nineteen. Nine'teen' and bruised. Bruised and wounded. Wounded and furious. You had to vomit your rage on somewhere. And as if your prayers were never heard, there was none. So you began to hate. To rip. To take and never give. And eventually, you began to kill. Numerous lives had ended in your palms and the scent of blood reminded people of you,

'The Wannabe Grim Reaper'.

HOW DARE THEY CALL YOU A 'WANNABE'?-

You ended up enraged again and again, it was a harmful loop you were meant to never leave. And now you stood in the center of your ward, your hands in blood as you have just pulled the eyeball of another prisoner out of its socket, holding it in your palm, the blood dripping down your fingers as the guards came to take you down, lock you up and report you to the council, to let them decide how much it will take from your remaining days.

Thrown into the cell, swallowing to wet your sore and dry throat and you saw him. Thrown into the cell across yours. How did he end up in here?

And he thought of the same question, but he already knew the answer. So he didn't ask.

His punishment there was surprisingly short as you two were taken out the same day, returning to your own cell. You were feared and alone until now, no one daring to even pass by your door, let aside signing up to be your cellmate and yet, seems like this rookie didn't know you that much. But he must have an idea of who you are as he saw the fight that broke that day, right? Damn well, but he didn't seem to even mind it. Weird...He tossed his bag down as he entered before you, settling on his bed, then saw you walk in.

"I thought I was alone in here."