![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
She fell. Tripped over a spec of dust, as her grandmother would say. Chin met concrete, and chin did not come away from the encounter at all happy. It bled, so much, as head injuries do. The blood scared her more than the pain. The doctor sewed the two inch laceration with dark black thread and stuck a bandage over it, but the bandage wouldn't stay on--she hated it, it looked ugly and the kids at school stared. The scar was a livid pink for a while, but with time it faded, and by the time she was grown it was little more than a pale indention. She runs her thumb over it when she's thinking.
==================================
She took a spill on a bicycle. Slicked her knee clean open. More stitches but no stares, just a week or two hobbling around and sitting out of P.E. She didn't mind that, though. She really didn't like dodgeball and the other kids thought her crutches were kind of cool. You can barely see it anymore, though it stands out when she bends her knee.
==================================
She can barely see through the tears that well up persistently. Her fingers are shaking and clumsy as she digs the razorblade in, cuts away the scar tissue, pulls the black thread out with a tweezers. She has to be careful. There's a lot of blood. She doesn't understand how such a deep laceration could heal overnight. She has to get the stitches out.
It's healed the next day--jagged white scar tissue, the result of her messy, desperate handiwork. When she looks at it, she remembers the confusion, the panic and the fear more than the pain.
==================================
They're only obvious if she wears her hair up. Two raised parallel marks just below her hair line, on the back of her neck. Just a graze, not really a bite. She'd been lucky, it had been her first time out and the vampire had been grave fresh and missed the artery completely.
It's a good reminder. Whenever she starts to feel like the job is too easy, too monotonous, the scar is there to remind her how fragile she really is, that all it takes is one slip, and it could be over.
Baileigh Solis
BtVS/AtS OC
word count: 375
==================================
She took a spill on a bicycle. Slicked her knee clean open. More stitches but no stares, just a week or two hobbling around and sitting out of P.E. She didn't mind that, though. She really didn't like dodgeball and the other kids thought her crutches were kind of cool. You can barely see it anymore, though it stands out when she bends her knee.
==================================
She can barely see through the tears that well up persistently. Her fingers are shaking and clumsy as she digs the razorblade in, cuts away the scar tissue, pulls the black thread out with a tweezers. She has to be careful. There's a lot of blood. She doesn't understand how such a deep laceration could heal overnight. She has to get the stitches out.
It's healed the next day--jagged white scar tissue, the result of her messy, desperate handiwork. When she looks at it, she remembers the confusion, the panic and the fear more than the pain.
==================================
They're only obvious if she wears her hair up. Two raised parallel marks just below her hair line, on the back of her neck. Just a graze, not really a bite. She'd been lucky, it had been her first time out and the vampire had been grave fresh and missed the artery completely.
It's a good reminder. Whenever she starts to feel like the job is too easy, too monotonous, the scar is there to remind her how fragile she really is, that all it takes is one slip, and it could be over.
Baileigh Solis
BtVS/AtS OC
word count: 375
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
witnessof_fate
