I don’t remember cleaning up any blood or peeling off any scab. I guess until people noticed it so did I. I can sit around and count all the scars on my legs and arms from childhood clumsiness and I can recall how I got each of them as well, except when it comes to this one that rests across my right shoulder. I wonder, how long has it been there, why I cant remember the pain or the blood and since blood is so thick then why doesn’t it stick out in my mind. Then again why are things left unexplained sometimes, is it because they’re too hard to bare or because as we get older we have a tendency to forget things easily and it leaves more room to remember the things we couldn’t long ago?
Why was our skin, our shield, our natural coat made so fragile and easily breakable. Was it so that we can learn to test our limits or so that we can learn to one day nourish ourselves the way we are supposed to. Maybe we were made like that so we can learn the ugliness scars leave and try our hardest to prevent it more. Though if that was the case we’d all be wearing bubble suits wouldn’t we, because if one person decided to wear one then another and another. People are so easily molded when it comes to certain things in life. They all want to be protected the same way as everyone else with out trying to protect themselves first.
I guess it’s a good thing we were made with layers, to learn from our mistakes and get a second chance to do something different. To get another try in living our life in a world where danger lingers and mistakes occur but the world is full of wonder and wonder catches our attention and sometimes wonder and danger are a pair. But that’s the cost of living on land full of wonder, of living in an environment where every where is a wonderland.
I wrote this short story based on how I felt at the time. It’s something new I’m trying to do, to write little stories based on “me.”