Each step was agony. Blood dripped down his face, into his eyes and mouth, blinding him and making him retch with the salty taste of his own torn flesh.

He stumbled and fell into the dirt. His heavy load fell on top of him, making him cry out. A cloud of dust floated up and he coughed and choked. The crowds laughed and taunted him. Soldiers kicked him and told him to get up, but he couldn’t move.

The weight was lifted off him and he was dragged to his feet. A stranger was forced to carry his cross. Soon, he told himself, the suffering will end and people will know the truth. Slowly, he made his way along the path of his Passion.

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