It worked like a reminder. At times it twitches and it keeps reminding him of its existence and also what he went through. The memory of it wasn’t a pleasant one, nor the tale of it held any glory. It became an indication of what he was going to put himself through and as well, looms him over with a question - does he want to repeat it? He gripped his hands tighter.
He reckoned.
All that was wrong with my almost insignificant life, with my frail body of flesh and bone, and with my dwindling and faulty inner self I so hopelessly tried to conceal.
His eyes bore a tsunami of emotions. The whirlpool in his irises and the mindless stare were all too intense. Although his eyes were fixated on the ground, he was too preoccupied to notice the earthworm that was trudging its way around him. If thoughts have a a means of projecting themselves, they would have swept him off of this dimension. So many people had told him over and over again to forget that dreadful evening, that terrible incident but he couldn’t. How could he! He held himself responsible for the destruction that was caused and the nightmare he relives in his every waking moment. If only circumstances were different.
The scars that he bore are the proof of his vice and the malice he unfurled. He unclutched his palms, flipped them over to see the two long and jagged lines that weren’t his veins, the discoloration on his skin was evident. It disturbs him constantly. More than that, it’s the memory and the guilt that disturbed him. People look at him with disgust or pity and sometimes both. Even he can feel the criticism in everyone stare but everybody denies it. Had he acquired the wound in a heroic act, he’d wear the scars proudly. The reality was far from that. It reminds him of the things he shouldn’t do and the life he would never look back to. He could move away from the area he lived most of his life and start afresh somewhere else where no one knew him but that doesn't change the fact that it'd be just a temporary fix. Running away from problems is arguably the worst suggestion but fleeing from the aftermath for a terrible mishap is highly dissuaded.
He remembered being youthful, being carefree, and stupid; no one finds it harmful and quite frankly too forgiving of that. But he was finding it hard in his heart to what he did. No matter how much he tries to help out in the community now, it never feels adequate. His past would always haunt him till he redeemed himself enough to escape from it’s deathly clutches. Since that accident, he has never gave into “young and reckless” nature, nor he did drugs, nor he took a car to joyride; he washed his palms from it all. One would say he had a rude awakening and too soon at that.
Wounds heal, scars fade away, but his scars were too deep to be dissolved; remnants of it would linger. His scars were carved in jagged lines all over his forearms; the accident not only inflicted a deep gash but also some parts of flesh seemed clawed off. It was ugly and pitiful.
The positive experiences would outweigh the ordeal - he believed. It was just a matter of time - he reminded himself. Perhaps some day he’d drift to peaceful slumber keeping all the nightmares at bay but that day is nevertheless out of reach. But, what of the scars? They’ll still be there and no amount of surgery would be enough to cover that.
He'd live with it, he'd endure it.
