Scars

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            “Mommy, how did you get this one?”

            Marine looked at the dark spot on her arm and smiled at her six year-old princess.

            “Mommy was young and crazy” she began. “I was playing outside in the backyard with some naughty boys. We decided to play dodge ball, but we didn’t have any balls. So we used rocks instead.”

              “Did it hurt?”

             “Yes, that’s why you shouldn’t throw rocks.”

             “How did you get the ones one yours legs?”          

            Marine blinked and looked at her darkened legs with the countless dots of her past.

             “Which one?” she smiled. “There are so many.”

             “All of them!”

            “But it’s close to your bed time, so we only have time for two.”

            Her precious diamond pouted and pointed to one on her shin.

             “When I was your age, I was playing hide-and-seek with a couple friends,” Marine spoke. “My friend and I decided to hide in some bushes and we got stabbed by some thorns.”

            “Oo, did it hurt?”

            “Yes, so make sure you don’t play in the bushes too much; you might get hurt.”

             “I don’t like pain Mommy.”

             “No one should like pain sweetheart.”

             Her daughter touched one of the many dark brown spots on Marine’s face and she cocked her head.

             “And how did you get this one?”          

            Marine took a deep breath and held her daughter’s hand.

             “This is the last one,” she spoke, “and then it’s time for night night.”

            “Okay!”

            Marine sighed, picked up her chicklet and tucked her into bed.

            “Mommy was recklessly running around at school one day and she tripped and fell face first,” Marine replied.

            “Ow!”

            “Yes, so don’t carelessly run around at the playground.

             “Okay Mommy! Night Night!!”

            “Night Night, my sweets.”

             Marine shut off the light and closed the door. She stood right outside and leaned against wall. She looked at her arms and touched her face. Marine sighed. She could not tell her daughter the real stories. The stories of how she would get those annoying pimples and black heads. Tales of how she would get countless mosquito bites during the summer and how she would scratch and scratch to get rid of the itch. No, the accounts of how crimson liquid would stain her nails and how the black scabs would try to shield her cuts from her vicious claws would be too much for those innocent ears.

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