The past two weeks have been a wild ride, and I’ve fallen behind. (Go figure.) But here we go!
Prompt 8: Every scar tells a story. Write the story of a scar you know well — yours or someone else’s.
I bruise and scar like no one’s business. For example, I scar from paper cuts. I have a wide variety of scars in a wide variety of places. Some are silly (like falling on a treadmill while it was still moving and skinning my knee), some are more dramatic (like accidentally stabbing my knee with a knife while at band camp and needing to get stitches), but my favorite is a long thin scar that runs the length of my left pinkie.
I don’t remember how old I was, maybe nine or ten, and I was camping with my grandparents and my cousin. We were sitting around the campfire, and I must have been leaning forward in my chair, looking at the fire. Campfires have always been rather enchanting for me. I find them mystical and magical and calming and timeless. I think I got lost in this fire, much like how Lucy Pevensie does while talking with Mr. Tumnis in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. I remember looking at the fire and then suddenly being on the ground in front the of the metal campfire ring. So, logically, I must have leaned too far in my chair and tipped forward. When I stood up and took stock of what happened (apart from feeling really embarrassment), I noticed my knee was scuffed, and my left pinkie was burnt. In falling, I must have touched that finger against the hot fire pit ring, though I’m truthfully not sure as the scar is a thin line and not a splotch.
It’s aged really well these past ten or so years, and is really soft on my pinkie; I think it looks rather elegant as it follows the curve of my pinkie.
What about you guys? What are the stories behind some of your scars?
Ciao for now,