Scoured, he thinks. That’s how he currently feels, and even the very sound of the word scrapes against his reddened skin like sandpaper. But he feels at least this much is necessary, after what he’s gone through.

He feels naked now, not in an embarrassing way, but in the cleanest possible sense of the word, where nothing is hidden or lurking behind dirt and shadows cast by distractions and darker things of this world. He’s stark naked and hairless, and he’s never felt more unburdened in his entire life.

It’s funny how having a skin disease made him more ashamed of himself than his current state, because it somehow disfigured him; changed him into someone else he doesn’t know anymore (or had that already happened, and the disease was merely a manifestation of the fact?).

It’s been seven days since then, when the grip of the disease receded and melted away with the sprinkling of blood and water, and being normal has never been such a relief. In fact, he’s better than normal because he’s seen how the contrast can be greater than he imagined it can be.

For once, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, because he’s finally cleaner than the way his skin may appear.


Blah blah blah

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