His scars told individual tales, but they didn’t tell the whole story.
The missing tip of his finger from when his older brother Joe slammed the car door on it. The aged slash on his forearm, an angry red smile, from the hot tray of roast potatoes Joe had turned into him with. The dent on his leg from when Joe had pushed him into a hedge for a laugh.
He thought of the scars he’d given Joe, the tales they had told. But ten years after he’d lost him he found he could no longer remember the whole story.
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