Scars

Scars… everyone has at least one scar: on your body or on your heart. I have many scars in all shapes and depth. My heart probably has more scar-tissue than anything else, but those scars are invisible to strangers, so they are not interested in them. What about physical scars? I heard people are embarrassed by them, or I heard as others say that scars are “ugly”. Depending on the scar of course, but I don’t understand why would they think so? Each of my scars is a story, each of them is telling who I really am and what I went thru. I have many scars on my body, but the biggest one, the one I heard being called ugly once is my dearest scar. I did it to…
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Tommy. Second Page

In the safety of his tiny room with only one source of light: the lamp on his table (there was a window, but it faced a brick wall of building next to it), Tommy pulled the purple diary from under his coat and put it carefully on the table. Along with his lamp he had a desk table, a bed and a very small dresser. Oh yes, and of course one poster on the wall: his favorite sci-fi show since he was a kid. He didn’t own much because he had only a part-time job at the repair shop, where people could bring any electronic device. He had less than 30 hours a week and got paid a minimum wage, because he didn’t have documents, and the owner was very…
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Tommy. First Page

That was what Tommy saw on the last page of a dirty diary. Tommy didn’t have the luxuries of a good life. His mom ran away with a rock band musician when he was 10 years old. One morning he heard a noise and his dad’s scream, “Lora? Lora!”. Little Tommy sat up in his bed and looked through the window with his sleepy eyes. His mother, Lora, was at the car, opening its door in a rush, throwing in her bag on the back seat and jumping in right after. The car looked small and rusty, but it got away very fast so his dad couldn’t catch up. Tommy remembered that his dad, David Blackmoore, was just standing there on the street in his robe, looking at the corner…
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Why pain doesn’t stop?

Why pain doesn't stop? Day after day, month after month... it is evolving, changing, but still hurts and I cannot stop it. I can't find a way how to stop it. It is exhausting... Pain is like a little animal that likes to scratch me from inside, cutting deeper and deeper with its claws. This animal can wake up from any little memory, from any word... Will this pain remain with me forever, until I finally will die? That is a good question. ... Sometimes it doesn't matter how hard I try to forget about the pain and to be a person that I want to be. It hits me back and take away all my strength, so I am getting back to zero...
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