Short Stories

Story: Scarred

The first scar I got was when I was five. The school bullies were berating me because of my braided hair. I didn't notice the mark on my hand until I got home, the pale white skin stared back at me, a taunting everlasting reminder of that day. When I was in college I got a boyfriend. That was until the scars started to appear again. Though this time it took me longer to accept from where they were coming from. The nice guy that ate ice cream while watching movies with me. He was the cause of these new marks on my body, the ones that nearly covered my arms. I left him, then the slut-shaming came. I couldn't walk around the campus without being called out at least once. They scared me, people that were once friends betrayed me. My mental state deteriorated, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without feeling ashamed, like the world would be better without a bitch like me. The tears and self-loathing never stopped. Then not only mental scars appeared on my battered body. By the end of the year, my arms and thighs had become a pasty white. That's when I decided to leave the hell hole and its demons to rot. I joined the military. 

I crawled through nightmares with my troop. We shared stories and helped each other heal. Yet it was never enough for me to stop berating myself. Then we got captured and I couldn't help but think of how it was only my fault. Then the torture game; they didn't care about the other scars, only seeing them as a sign that I would be the one to break quicker than the rest. How wrong they were. They threw blows at me all day and the only thing that I considered was that they were just adding to the disastrous art that consists of my body. It took the government countless weeks to barter to get us back, in that time their words had caused the majority of my legs to turn to a pastel white. After we got stateside we were all released from active duty, they could physically see our pain which didn't help our case to remain in active service. And when I slept for the first time, not in a barrack, I realized that my only safe spot turned into my worst nightmare. There was no time, conscious or not that didn't cause a scar to appear. When my team noticed, they sent me to the psychologist. They were waiting when I was diagnosed with PTSD. Words that already gave me wounds created countless more, all because I couldn't escape my head. 

There was only one spot on my body left unmarred was on my left temple. I got used to the looks when I went out. People would often look at me and remind me that for seeing the horrors of war I could have worse scars. Then they become mortified when I say that tan blotch is all I have left of my original skin tone. That the quarter-sized patch was all I had of normality. That all was years ago, that patch has been long gone, lost when I buried my parents. Now everyone believes that I am a happy person. To say the least they are surprised to see my darkness. Those that surround me now all know that I have not had a pleasant life. 

Yet I realized something when my now husband proposed, the scar on my temple darkened, back into my normal tone. Even more of them faded when I had my children and wathced them grow old. Then when they had their kids. Now, by the time I am seventy, The majority of my body has been altered back to its original tone. When I lost my husband a few new scars appeared, but now those that mar my skin are disguised by wrinkles. Now as I sit in a hospital room, writing as silent as possible as to not wake my daughter I look at that original scar in a new light. If I had never had gotten it all those years ago, I would have been on a different path, never-ending up in a situation with enough happiness to heal my past traumas.

My daughter often spoke of how I would heal her wounds, yet she never understood how she was healing mine. Now I hope she does. And now I can die peacefully now knowing that at least someone will know my story. 

I love you, my family, don't let my departure cause you enough pain for a scar, but let my memory be strong enough to heal any that you receive. I will see all of you again one day. (And I better not see a scar on any of you or I will rain down fire on those who cause them :))

          With all the love in the world,

                                   Grandma