11 Days.

10 Minutes.

No Edits.

Raw Writing.

Close to heart.

Enjoy!

Nails

His palms were empty, bare, and void of any markings that would signify his work.

It was this lack of visible devotion that pained him so. He craved acknowledgement of his dedication to the faith. The man yearned for his soul to be purified through a strict adherence to his sacred text.

Stooped over the desk, he straightened his posture and relished the tender sores across his back.

Still, the whipping wasn’t enough for him. This man wanted to see his pain.

Closing the Bible, he laid his hands on top of its cover. The gilded pages were worn and faded. The skin of his hands, pale pink and soft, was a sharp contrast to the midnight leather of the book.

A calm sense of peace overcame him, and his answer was clear. He reached for the nail and settled it across his left palm. Swiftly and reverently, the man swung the hammer down.

He nailed his hand to the Bible with a dull thud.

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

H