First Separation

“My bellybutton.”

“What?”

“That’s the first scar we get, the first scar of first separation.” She trailed her finger around his navel as she spoke.

“Ok”, he said, rolling onto his side, “Besides your bellybutton, what other scars do you have?”

“The blankets when you toss them aside and leave my bed are a scar. A scar of separation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and when you go, it is wrenching, and the door is a scar.”

“Another scar of separation? Drama! I return, we heal.”

“What makes you think I have scars?”

“Everyone does. They’re our own imprinted stories. I showed you where I slid into the barbed wire fence.” He lifted his calf for her to see the scar again, then kissed her, held her gaze. “Thing is, we’ve been together a few times, but always with the lights off, always you wear a nightshirt.” Her eyes dropped.

“Look. Pruning saw slipped the branch, ripped my finger.”

She kissed his finger then pushed his hand away. She sat up, pulled off her shirt. “Scars of separation”, she whispered. “But I got away.”

“Know that I’ll never hurt you”, he said, gently tracing each raised imprint of a plunged knife.

 

This is my response to Irene Water’s challenge for the Rodeo event #4 over at Carrot Ranch. In a double length Carrot Ranch flash, or 2 chapters of 99-words each (198 words total), tell a story that shows a scar. It can be memoir, other forms of creative non-fiction, any genre of fiction or a BOTS.

Go over there and try it.

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