Painted Scars Novels & Stories

Skyla's hand fled to her chest when she had a glimpse of his fully naked upper body. His body was badly bruised and had scars all over it! Skyla exclaimed, "I thought one deep scar might be responsible for all of this…" With that she lifted her eyes to gape at his blood covering the ground before getting back her gaze at his chest and then his abs. She continued in her mind, "But there are scars all over his body! It's impossible for me to conceal all of them! This doesn't look like an animal attack! I don't see any person would have done this much harm to me after all he seems strong enough to face whatever comes his way!" Skyla's eyes got teary and her heart got heavy on seeing the amount

I grabbed a white puffed sleeve shirt and put it on, then I wore it with light green trousers and a pastel pink chunky cardigan to conceal my scars, making me feel slightly more at ease. Grabbing my toothbrush, I start to brush my teeth, whilst applying a light amount of mascara at the same time. What it's saving me time okay? Finishing up I look myself in the mirror once more pulling the pastel pink cardigan over my shoulder to cover a scar that's peaking out.

Damien chuckled a bit. “Nobody cares about your scars, mate. With or without them, you are beautiful inside and out. Scars are not signs of weakness; instead, they are a sign that you survived something horrific. I don’t know what happened in the Midnight Pack, but I am sure you would have died, but here you are, alive with only scars to show what you went through,” he said, and I kept quiet.

I hate the look of my muscles all tense and stitched tight on my back. A lifetime of blows and bouncing back collects scars. I've had a lot of scalding showers, and bruises have become stretched and angry on me, causing pitted scars. There are no tears, but the groans come in multitude. As a monster, you learn never to accept pain. Pain only affects you if you let it. Black slacks. Black socks. Charcoal shoes are polished until they look like a crisp new apple skin. The shirt is deep forest green, which brings out the natural multiple hues of green in my eyes. Intentional. Gold flecks are juxtaposed in my iris.

The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And I grinned. Cold, empty thing that it was, with no regard for the girl that once was me. Because what I discovered, Jake and Cassandra didn't kill me. Victoria didn't, either. They just provided justification for waking the hell up. I removed my makeup and cotton brushes wiped away like discarding the old me. I looked again and caught sight of something new in my eyes. Peace of anger. Hunger. "No more tears," I told myself. "Time they're sorry for all of this."

Leon was standing still but his eyes are sharp and active, ready to shoot anything that moves. Agnes didn't dare. She didn't move and stood still while her pale face was illuminated by the moon's mocking light. She was disheveled, far from the gracious and precious image that she carried for almost 19 years. Her red hair was like a bird's nest with blades of green grasses and dirt on top of it. She has a small wound on her pale cheeks, corner of her right eye, and lips and they were bleeding. The red blood slid down slowly on her face, painting it red.

Aiden looks like he might be sick, while Jasper and Marcus both look pissed. I turn back to Zahra just as she stands up straight, and I finally see what they’re staring at. Her back is covered in angry red and white scars, crisscrossing into a horrible lattice over her skin. My stomach churns at the sight. I knew her father had hurt her, but this is the first time I’m seeing the damage with my own eyes. I watch the realization dawn in her expression, and the look on her face nearly breaks me. Stepping forward, I try to ease her anxiety, wanting to brush this off for her sake. “Hey, little one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself after this morning. How are you feeling?”

Liziwe said not a word, but continued to stare unblinkingly, her mouth set in a firm, downward line. The month of confinement had not been kind. Her face had grown sallow and drawn; her bright eyes dull. The blow to her cheek had only begun to heal, leaving a shining, ripe scar in its place. It drew the eye, and made Susan cringe to look at it. And though one day it might fade, it could never be erased entirely: for there, upon her face, she would carry the reminder of that day, forever and always.

He was painting and saying anything he could, breathing in difficulty. " All the christians here, just tell your angels and God we need a miracle here, I need to go, I need to leave pain behind, even death has abandoned me," he cried in pain. I looked closer and for the first time saw how his arms looked. Their were scars everywhere, the scars had formed unique patterns horizontal, vertical, diagonal, like a wire mesh. Nobody did that fir attention. Each cut, each line was a representation of a pain on its own. It represented a battle and struggle that was overcome.

" She... She re-opened dad's case? Why? Isn't she the one who told me that I should stop fighting against that invisible enemy of us? Why would she... Do this?" I stood up even if I feel like I would fall in any moment. I accidentally passed by a mirror and saw my scar. The memories that I buried six feet under the ground starts to flash like a flood. The screams in pain, the culprit's laugh, dad's cry in pain, our maids' shouts, and my cries. God, I need to stop this again. If this kept on flashing back, I'll lost myself again. And I don't want that to happen.