Fallen

He reached forward and felt it. Rubbed his hands across the still raised skin.

“Why is she on the cross?” He wondered out loud, wincing at the image of her torn, bloody hands and feet. “Why did you do that to yourself?” He traced his fingers across the image of her hands and feet, wanting to take them inside himself, kiss away all the hurt, all the damage.

“Because…once you stop being crucified” she began, talking to the wall in front of her “you start being free."