Its been a few hours now, as I reminisce over days gone by. I’m still sitting here, I’m still waiting here, trying to think of something to do. You know, just sitting here thinking about it seems to be fun. Well, not fun, but I’m enjoying myself none the less.

But what about my bandages? I wonder what they look like. I grab the frayed end that I had been playing with, and slowly rip it from my skin. It hurt so much. If I rip faster the pain gets worse, but if I rip slower the pain lasts longer. Such a decision to make.

The choices spin around my brain as I crack a smile.

I should have the pain. How about I meet somewhere in the middle. Not too fast, but not too slow.

Up the length of my forearm, I tear off the bandage. Up the length of my forearm are two parallel, hairless, red streaks. Up the length of my forearm are scars.

I guess I really did it.

The evidence is right there.

Too be etched into my history for years.

They look marvelous though. The broken off red color. I love it.