And so it came to pass that one of us (I can't remember whom) selected Day 98: "Scarred Stiff". The instruction for that particular exercise was simple. "Finish the story. Start with: He had a scar . . . " Angela wrote a kick-ass short story. And I wrote the following poem, which went someplace I didn't expect it to go when I started out. M says it's creepy. I leave you to judge for yourself.
by Kelly R. Fineman
He had a scar he never spoke about –
beneath his left eyebrow, a silvered slash.
One might assume it was a hockey stick
or a puck gone wild that left its mark;
the other hockey players had such scars,
so usually no one asked its origin.
But sometimes, someone – usually a girl –
inquired about its cause. He simply shrugged,
preferring silence to the ugly words
required to tell how one night, in his teens,
the screwdriver he'd used to stab his dad
deflected once, blood mixing, DNA
transferred a second time, father to son.
The fire he set erased all evidence,
but nothing could erase his father's scar.