Scars
Author's Note: This isn't a happy story, it's sort of sad. Dawn thinks about her scars.
Scars were supposed to be dirty, ugly, things that people were supposed to be ashamed of or kept hidden. People weren't supposed to talk about their scars, weren't supposed to proudly wear them. She did.
To her, her scars were beautiful and something to be proud of. It meant she had survived and stayed alive, when she should have been dead. Her scars were things to be proud of and not things to be ashamed of. They were her medals, things to be honored and loved.
She didn't get why others told her to get rid of her scars. She didn't get why they always told her that normal people didn't have scars. Everyone had scars, some just had scars that were more visible. Half of her scars were visible and half of her scars were on the inside. It was an even mix and that was the way she liked it.
She liked to trace the scars on her wrists; those two scars were her favorites. They were so long and had little bumps in the middle. She had received them two years ago. Gifts from herself. She had tried to make it stop, but she had failed. For her efforts, she had received two scars; it seemed like a fair trade.
There was a long scar across her lower stomach. It had been given to her by someone else, someone that had smelt of candles and candy. When she was nervous, she'd finger the scar and calm herself. She had received it when she had been just fourteen. It had been her first visible scar, so it held a special place in her heart.
There were many other scars all over her body, thirteen in all. Thirteen beautiful, wonderful, medals of honor. She loved each scar as if it were a child. Her outside scars proved that she had been alive for a while. Even it were a lie, even if she had only been alive for eight years, her scars made her feel like she had been alive for twenty-one years.
She had scars on the outside, but she had scars on the inside as well. So many scars. Scars from death, pain, even passion. They were the scars that gave her nightmares. The scars that made her wary of touching other people. They were the scars that made her stay up all night, scared to go to sleep, scared to face the demons in her mind. They were the scars that made her wish she were dead.
Scars, beautiful, wonderful, ugly, awful, scars. They were all hers and she loved them and hated them. They were the things that made her feel alive and made her wish she were dead.