The Scar

She twiddled her decades old injury and continued to become it. One did not need to look hard to discern the mark, but what it meant to her was more profound. She had been a pretty little girl who got her way, and the horror of the accident made people crowd around her to protect. She earned her harshness and replayed it in a spree of anger that refueled itself with little urgencies that would erupt. She believed she had a lifelong pass to rage if she felt so inclined. On many days she spat language toward unsuspecting people who felt innocent and retreated into their homes. She had an uncanny way of forgetting what she'd said or muffling its effect inside her head. 

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