Leave me with a scar

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“This little scar here.”

“That… that there is from skateboarding.”


“No what?”

“You never skateboarded!”

“After cracking my head and getting 6 stiches, no.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“I was 6 at the time.”

“Oh… well, what’s this one?”

“That one is from impaling myself on my bike when I was about 10.”

“You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“Pure accident. Stacked it while mucking around and the bear-traps took a chunk out of my thigh…”


“More gory details? You could see all the layers down into the muscle.”

“You’re still proud of it, aren’t you?”

“No, not really… the story is a bit of a dud, isn’t it? ‘Err, yes, I fell on my own bike.'”

“Point taken. How about for this one?”

“That’s an easy one. Burnt it last week at your mum’s, remember?”

“Not my fault you’re clumsy.”

“I think your mum has it in for me.”

A giggle. “And have you got a brave story behind this one here?”

“You don’t recognise it?”

“No… should I?”

“Yes. It has no brave story, but you should know it.”

“Still can’t think why I should know it…”

His voice becomes distracted, quiet.

“That was from when you broke my heart the first time.”

She looks up into his eyes now, searching for his distant gaze. Her mouth opens, then shuts again, as her gaze shifts, looking inwards. She tucks her head into the speacial hollow next to his neck as they both drift into a sea of memory.

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