A Scar and A Memory

Walking home alone, slipping and sliding, one winter afternoon, I stumbled forward. The snow bank engulfed me, drawing me in, clutching me. I lurched back. Blinked. The snow now turning crimson as I drew back my hand. Blood oozing down my wrist.

Clearing away the snow and gravel, found a skin flap dangling. The pain slowly acknowledging my new reality.

Holding this wound, I quickly head home, leaving an occasional marker behind.

At home, Mom was unimpressed. Adjusted the flap, covering it with a band-aid, assured me all is well.

All that remains, like life, a scar and a memory.