It stood out. A jagged, harsh pink scar just above the collar line. It was an angry scar, born from spite, malice and temperament and the years had not lessened its impact. People’s eyes were always drawn to it as they spoke to you, you could see their eyes gravitating towards the wound as if they needed to keep an eye on it else it jump out and bite them.
Even now I would on occasion lift my hand and feel the ragged mark with the tips of my fingers, it was dry and tight.
This was one of many scars, the others were deeper, harsher and angrier than this one, the only difference being this scar was visible, the others were on my heart, invisible to the eye but completely visible to me.