A/N: I do not own anything of this fantastic enterprise...
Prologue
Do you know how I got these scars?
The light from the naked bulb overhead flickered. The edges of his barely green-tinted hair seemed even more vivid in the occasional, staccato flashes of light.
He ran lean fingers across his lips. The smooth skin greeted him and he smiled. He let his hand glide to the left, following the contour of the smile. The caress over his face turned less into a caress as the finger continued past his lip and over the jagged, rough edges of skin that had been pieced back together in uneven healing. With an animal-like growl, he covered his face. It calmed him, somewhat, as he let his fingers feel again the unmarred skin over his cheeks and his eyes and forehead. That moment of serenity was but a moment as he flattened his hands and could feel the distinction once again.
He knew what he would see in the mirror. It was why he didn't look. He was long past feeling hideous. He was long past feeling self-conscious. He was long past the pain. As he reached over and picked up the first thing he could find, the only thing he could think was scar. But not his own. No. The permanence of his smile would only serve as a badge. A badge of his purpose...
His fingers reached up to begin their work.
Black... black as death. He let the substance permeate the skin around his eyes. It was only the beginning... The tips of his fingers were inky black when he was through, as if he'd been writing a masterpiece forever and a day.
Perhaps he was.
He moved on. The white, liquidy make-up haphazardly began to take over his face. He didn't need a mirror to know that it was uneven and grotesquely leaving blank all of the crevices and creases. He put the jar down and ran his hands over the finished product, relishing in the coolness before it dried. His hands came away stained even more, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he reached over and picked up the other object.
Red. It was a bold color. It was a lustful color... a painful color. He dotted stains of it along those previously smooth lips with a gleeful laugh that bordered on insane. He didn't care if it was in a straight line or on target. Just as he didn't care if his own smile was or not. With the last of the red applied, he puckered his lips in a gross imitation of preparation before tossing the object carelessly over his shoulder.
This time, he did look in the mirror. Boo! He smiled a yellow-stained smile. Then, he saw something in the cold, uncaring reflection. Nothing he could explain, but it was there. And his face darkened in response as his hands, lightning quick, ripped the mirror from the wall and threw it against the opposite wall.
Tiny little faces stared up at him from the shards of glass as he raked his hands violently over his face with a small cry. Whether it was of anguish, or anger, or disgust, or frustration... it was indistinguishable. Or it was all of them.
His hands came away with more paint as he looked down at them. But that was okay. It was there. It would always be there. Just like his smile.
He wasn't here to show his scars. He was here to be the scar. He was here to create the scar. Not just merely on others. But on the world.
Do you know how I got these scars?
The End