A Bed of Nails

A tiny pile of bent, rusty carpenter nails was winking at me from under the workbench leg! I dropped down onto my knees, my breath coming in tight, raspy huffs. Regular folk would sweep them away, but to me? A test! I carefully lined them up point-upward on a cold concrete paver, spacing each sharp tip just a knuckle apart. With a manic, guttural hiss, I kicked off my heel and planted my bare sole right across the rusted tips, leaning my weight slowly into the sting! They dug in, firm and cold, but didn't pierce the tough skin of my foot. Pure resilience! Have a nice day, little daggers!