The Last Story

Scars don't heal. It always carries with it the memories.

"How did you get that scar?" she asked.

A question that automatically brings the past to life. It will always be there. Every time you look at it, you can't help but remember. A great big scar.

It doesn't heal, but it doesn't hurt anymore. It's just a mere reminder of the things that happened. Or maybe not.

"It's beautiful, right? A very beautiful scar."

She looked at me, confused.
I flash a sincere smile.

"What?" I asked.

"You're weird." she said.

"I know." me.

"What's so beautiful in a scar? It just reminds you of something that hurt you before."

"Every scar is a story."

"Here we go again. Everything has a story. Blah blah blah. Just tell me how you get that "beautiful" scar?"

I laugh. I like this girl. She always sound like an irritated monster, but no worries, she doesn't bite.

"Accident. No, more like stupidity. I was riding a bicycle then, full speed. Then i clutch both front and back brake. That put the bicycle into sudden stop. And then, you know, inertia, so I got thrown up into the air. Then I hit the rocky ground."

I paused. Smiled at the thought of my stupidity. Then I continued,

"I got lot of bruises on my left shoulder, elbows, knees, and the deepest, here."

I touched my scar to show it to her.

"Left eyebrow."

"You still ride bicycles after that?"

"Of course. Bicycles are kinda part of my life. And I still love riding bicycle though I got hurt by that many times before."

I tap her head then smiled at her. She smiled back. But then her smile suddenly turned into a please-don't-leave-me look.

I flashed one last sincere smile at her.


I closed my eyes.


Then I wake up.