Hammer and Spikes
He picked up two handfuls of steel spikes from the bench. With calloused hands he placed all but one in the leather pouch he wore around his waist. He felt the forged body of the single nail, knowing its purpose, being an instrument of its purpose. The sharp point at the end of the tool he placed against the delicate flesh at his wrist, between two blood vessels. Briefly he heard the cries of agony and a shiver coursed through his bones. He placed the spike with the others and tested a hammer on the bench for weight. The tools of his trade, hammers and nails. He built nothing and he destroyed much. "I heard they have three prisoners for your crew today," a voice behind him said. He turned to face the deep baritone. An old friend graced the threshold between the two rooms of his home. "Had two... and then they added another." "All criminals, no doubt," the friend added. "Two are thieves. The other is some kind of politica...