The Scar

Life can come undone easily, like a single yarn which, if pulled, can take apart an intricately knitted sweater.Elsie did not know that. She was too buoyant to know that. And naive enough to fall in love with him. The one with the scar. 

She was too late to know that that the scar ran deep, into his soul. 

He was a drug dealer, a bad sort, as her grandmother would have told her. Had she been alive.

She went deeper into the abyss with him, snorting drugs, making love, snorting drugs again.

By the time she realised who she had turned into, she could see no light at either end of the tunnel.

The day an overdose killed her, she had been to the church. She had prayed. For peace. In the other side. 

And she made sure the overdose killed him too. The scar in his soul would no longer slice into someone else’s life.

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