5 Scars, off the top of my head:
- age – body part – shape – tool used – location: comment
- Before 1 – upper-lip – all over – scalpel – some hospital: Don’t remember much of that one.
- 8 – lower belly – straight line, a good two inches long – scalpel – some other hospital: Dangerously closer to
- 12 – left shoulder – kinda star-shaped, rather tiny – surfboard+wave+basaltic ocean ground – bottom of the Indian ocean: The wave didn’t look that big at the time. Volcanic stone will really rip your skin apart.
- 17 – left shoulder – neat incision, half-an-inch – girlfriend with a knife – Paris: Not nearly as bad as it sounds.
- 22 – knuckle on medium finger of right hand – crescent-shaped – blunt object held by Bad Guy – Tokyo: more blood than damage. Didn’t end up all that well for Bad Guy.
Of course, the list above now needs updating.
At the moment, bits of threads are starting to peel off my body in the most disturbing, yet ostensibly expected, way.
Crazy thing is the speed at which the skin seems to cicatrise under it: I can already tell my bikini line will be perfectly unscathed long before the end of the Summer.
Which brings the obvious question: how comes they don’t use the same superior stealth stitching technology when doing, ya know, pneumatic reinforcement surgeries. Quite obviously, nobody wanna have large scars lingering all over their body. Unless these can be satisfyingly backed up with a story involving vicious enemy fire, deadly bulls, or the use of 17th century katanas to preserve one’s family honour.
Very few California teenage girls have plausible tales of accomplishment in the Vietnam war or semi-successful Spanish bullfighting experience. Indeed, in their case, hiding such marks of clinical enhancements would seem the preferred way.
Yet, personal, erm, scientific research in this domain, has demonstrated that scars nearby the operated area are more than common. What gives?
Perhaps I have abnormally strong regenerative power.
Now, if I can just figure how I get these damn adamantium claws out.