It’s funny the little things which remind you of someone. A song, a smell, a taste. My reminder of you is above my eye, the scar from where you threw a knife at my head in a fit of rage. It was also the first time that you told me you loved me. If only it had been the last…
I just couldn’t see it at first. She was older, wiser and I was bewitched by her beauty, everything she did, said, who she liked, and didn’t like. If only I could be like her, my life would be so different…so much better. It was then, I noticed the insidious scar.
The voting was closed but the wound reopened, the still-pink scar torn wide as the mid-west. The blood of the nation, redder than MAGA hats, begins to flow once more. The victor, the sham, phyrric victor, suckles on the hatred, feeds and fattens on division, glorifies in his untouchable powers.
He stared at the blackened swath spreading across the landscape. The once beautiful forest was reduced to ashes. And it was all his fault. It supposed to be a silly prank, but things spiraled out of his control. The forest fire destroyed everything. As he planted the first seeding, he wondered how long it would take to heal the scars.
There was a tightening at Linda’s wrists as her mother went on about gifts Linda’s brother bought her. iPhone, housekeeper that cleaned once a week, though she needed twice. Linda didn’t mention the shit said brother put their mother through. Scandals mentioned once for affect, then subsequently buried under a pile of bells/whistles, and instead, rubbed at her wrists.
Tall tales stretch truth, but repeat. Paul Bunyan was an 1887 French-Canadian lumberjack, rabble-rouser against the British. His double row of teeth and a little drink could chew even the ends off a wooden bar. He’s claimed to have cleared a forest with one ax swing; then dragged his ax to create the Grand Canyon scar.
You should write more of these beautiful little heartfelt pieces, Miguel - I think these are the best things you write. Sign of a beautiful and deep soul.
It's Guy Fawkes Night here in the UK, so I've gone topical 🎆🔥
Scar
He knew there wouldn't be scars if caught. The line between torture and death would be too short for any healing. Especially for treason. That's what he thought as they marched closer. Closer still. And then found.
But the scar a story leaves can change a legacy. Now his name was arguably more infamous than the man he tried to kill.
I feel this. My scars are mostly invisible.
Thank you for making me feel less alone.
Same as mine. It’s great we’re not alone :)
It’s funny the little things which remind you of someone. A song, a smell, a taste. My reminder of you is above my eye, the scar from where you threw a knife at my head in a fit of rage. It was also the first time that you told me you loved me. If only it had been the last…
That's a great one Colin. So powerful.
PROMPT: SCAR
THE SECURITY GUARD
He told everyone they were bullet wounds.
Battle scars, from an armed robbery he bravely foiled single-handed, while working as a security guard.
And he loved to show them off, while people bought him drinks all night.
But we’d already seen them.
Fifteen years ago.
And this time, we were going to leave some scars he wouldn’t walk away from… 😎
Title: Perfectly Undone
I just couldn’t see it at first. She was older, wiser and I was bewitched by her beauty, everything she did, said, who she liked, and didn’t like. If only I could be like her, my life would be so different…so much better. It was then, I noticed the insidious scar.
The voting was closed but the wound reopened, the still-pink scar torn wide as the mid-west. The blood of the nation, redder than MAGA hats, begins to flow once more. The victor, the sham, phyrric victor, suckles on the hatred, feeds and fattens on division, glorifies in his untouchable powers.
Interesting times ahead of us.
thats one word for it
ooooph. wincing here!
He stared at the blackened swath spreading across the landscape. The once beautiful forest was reduced to ashes. And it was all his fault. It supposed to be a silly prank, but things spiraled out of his control. The forest fire destroyed everything. As he planted the first seeding, he wondered how long it would take to heal the scars.
I don't normally pray, but today's post made me want to: "May all the parents out there stop scarring their child."
Microdosing - 60mg of a Scar
===
The torture of group pictures! How could they enjoy it so much?
Couldn’t look at her own face in photographs. Couldn’t look in the mirror.
Nobody ever asked her why. Do they care?
‘You look fine…’, they half-heartedly said.
Her face was a curse, a constant reminder of her abusive mother. Like an invisible permanent scar, like a life sentence.
My chest is covered with scars
Left and right on skin marred
True reality sets a bar
That what was pure is far
From empty,filled with pain
Days of continual rain
Hope was lost in vain
Only love could remain
And fill my scarred heart
With loyalty that doesn't depart
A long and winding medical chart,
The horror of missing parts
Thank you , Miguel and Tiffany
Untitled
There was a tightening at Linda’s wrists as her mother went on about gifts Linda’s brother bought her. iPhone, housekeeper that cleaned once a week, though she needed twice. Linda didn’t mention the shit said brother put their mother through. Scandals mentioned once for affect, then subsequently buried under a pile of bells/whistles, and instead, rubbed at her wrists.
Well I winced a bit reading that
Oh man I like this one a lot!
Tall tales stretch truth, but repeat. Paul Bunyan was an 1887 French-Canadian lumberjack, rabble-rouser against the British. His double row of teeth and a little drink could chew even the ends off a wooden bar. He’s claimed to have cleared a forest with one ax swing; then dragged his ax to create the Grand Canyon scar.
That seriously means something. Brilliant.
You should write more of these beautiful little heartfelt pieces, Miguel - I think these are the best things you write. Sign of a beautiful and deep soul.
Thank you.
Thank you Evelyn! I like writing these, but I don't want to overdo it :)
You are not overdoing it. There isn’t enough beauty and soul in the world these days.
That’s why I hardly ever get any likes for my own beauty and soul.
It's Guy Fawkes Night here in the UK, so I've gone topical 🎆🔥
Scar
He knew there wouldn't be scars if caught. The line between torture and death would be too short for any healing. Especially for treason. That's what he thought as they marched closer. Closer still. And then found.
But the scar a story leaves can change a legacy. Now his name was arguably more infamous than the man he tried to kill.
who was that guy, anyway...