Two years have passed, you're a little bigger now. Running and laughing
are your only cares in the world. Playing tag, being chased, the anxiety
of being followed, the adrenaline of winning. Take a quick left, but
miscalculate the angle. Your forehead lands perfectly vertical on the
protruding corner of the wall. All that remains is the ringing in your
ears and the searing pain that vibrates out from your skull. Blood
trickles from your head onto the wall in front of you. Frantic screams
vomit from your mouth but you can't hear them. All you feel, hear, see is
nothing. You are simply not there.
As a rag is pressed to the injury and you are rushed into the car, you
acknowledge this as your first brandishing. Your first identifier. A
physical, permanent mark. The first of many.
Little did you know you would have many other permanent marks, none of which were physical, but lasted longer than those pressed to your skin.