Painted Scars Novels & Stories

And I knew he did this to represent my emotional state that day. I frowned, leaning in to take a closer look at this image of me sitting at the beach under a grey sky with an angry sea that threatened to burst past its banks. “Are those?” I stared at the very faint lip marks he had painted over my body. “Kisses,” he said, leaning down with his hands on the table to stare into my eyes. “I wanted to undo the scars, since I failed to do so in reality. “Thank you, Leonardo,” I said, pushing my seat back to stand up. “But I’m afraid I cannot accept this.”

I looked at his retreating back wondering since when did he become so heartless. --------------------------------------------------- "Take these medicine for 1 week and the inflammation will be gone. But these marks will remain...." The doctor said looking sadly at me but I didn't cared. These scars were nothing compared to the scars on my soul. Andrea was still sitting with me talking to the doctor "I am really sorry ma'am" I said referring to the burn on her hand "It's alright they will heal but yours may not.....I will get you a special scars medicine ..it definitely works...don't worry they will vanish with time'

N O T E A scar is the mark of a story that, on the surface, is private. It is an implication of what lies beneath and within. Complete scar removal is not possible, but most scars will gradually fade over time. Scars are a natural part of the healing process. Most will fade although they never completely disappear. At times, emotions and memories are stored so well that they can’t be recalled on command. Alternately, the psyche veils itself with trauma that has left its mark and overcompensates to dissociate from trauma. The scar is a container and a

Like I have two dimples when I smile while Emily has two but one is not that deep. I have a small birthmark just above my navel, which Emily doesn't have. When I went out two days ago to meet up with Maddie at Starbucks, people were congratulating me on my wedding. I was too embarrassed to say I'm not the one getting married but my twin. Nobody will believe me, anyway. So I thanked them and smiled politely at them. At the mall, when we went shopping for wedding gifts, someone congratulated me, and I told him I wasn't the one he never believed me.

Her clothes were torn and there were claw marks and bite wounds all over her, the worst of which was a claw mark that traveled from her left collarbone to her right hip. Luckily it didn’t appear too deep, and someone had soaked it with a herb poultice, as if to help it heal. " I will help you." Scar said as she muttered some words placing her hand on the wound , she looked at it but her chants weren't doing justice. She repeated again and again before Hazel told her to stop

She had grown into a breathtaking woman, more stunning than even he could have imagined her. And he had done just that. For years after he did what he did, he had kept away from her, while simultaneously fighting the urge to see her again. Curiosity was a painful thing to endure, and he kept wondering what she would look like now, and whether anything would change over the years. Time healed all wounds, and he had hoped that the scar he left on her would have healed by then. Wounds heal, but scars remain with us for life. "Look at you," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "You look even more beautiful than I remember."

We keep each other safe. I touch the scars on his arms and count them. Like the stripes of a tiger, they go all the way up to his shoulders on both arms. Some are deeper than others. They are like braille on his skin. Even a blind man could tell there is a story of pain that burns upon his epidermis. I touch his scars and feel them on his shoulders. These scars are everywhere on his body. Even his mid-section probably has scars everywhere. He has marked himself for life with these man-made scar tattoos.

Each scar held a story—a story of struggle, survival, and triumph. Deep admired these marks, not with regret or sorrow, but with a sense of reverence. They were reminders of his journey—a journey that tested his strength and perseverance. They symbolized moments of challenge and resilience, etched into his skin like chapters in a book. With every faded line, he saw a testament to his body's remarkable ability to heal, a silent declaration of overcoming adversity. These scars were symbols of battles fought and won, of hurdles crossed and lessons learned. They were not just marks on his skin; they were emblems of resilience and courage.

Grace nearly dropped the soap. Scars, large and small, crossed his torso. She'd seen bullet scars before. There were two right next to each other under his left arm. She was so focused on the terrible scars that she barely noticed the black, abstract, curvilinear tattoos on his chest and shoulders. They were fierce, with what looked like stylized talons interwoven with curving, concentric whiplash curves. He was bruised almost black on his right side. More tattoos covered his wrists and elbows in precise, flowing patterns made up of repeating geometric shapes. The burn scar on his left hand was part of a larger burn that marred the tattoo right up to his elbow.