Lives Gone By

Scar

Brady was a good guy, through and through. I've never met anyone else like him. While most of us had small paper cuts on our hands and shoulders from little lies here and there; he had absolutely no injuries at all. This made him seem like the best kind of person, completely honest, and someone you can trust. That was the first impression he made, and that's the impression I still have of him. Everyone seemed to want to be around him at all times possible, but I suspected that he was too good to be true.

  Brady usually came into the changing room last. I have no idea why. He just did. I decided that I'd stay behind and wait till Brady came in, so I did. When he came in he looked tired and gave me a simple, "Hey." Then proceeded to change. When he took off his shirt I saw it. He had a gash deeper than I'd ever seen. I gazed in awe and he sighed. "Get comfortable. It's a long story."
We got dressed and sat across from each other on different benches. "So, the story of how I got it." He said as if he had rehearsed it a million times before. "I suppose I should start by saying that I fought in the war." I of course knew what this meant. Even if you may not. "We were liberating a small town when an injured foe made an attempt at my life, but missed. Unfortunately there was someone he hit. A young boy no older than eight." I gasped. "The boy collapsed and I grabbed him in my arms. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed before, 'Somebody! Anybody!' After this my fellow soldiers ran in and I told them, 'Hurry up and get a goddamn medic!' They all ran off. I looked at this boy in his glassy eyes, and told him, 'Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be fine. We're going to save you, and find your family. You'll have a perfect life.' "