ASSIGNMENTS:
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Michelle Winchell
Laramie, Wyoming USA
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REPORTS:
PREVIOUS NEXT
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When I was a small child, I got an infected cyst on my right cheek. It needed to be removed, and my mother was given the name of a plastic surgeon who would be able to make the incision almost unnoticeable. The initial plan was to have the surgery in his office. I still remember a dark haired man screaming at me for quietly crying and clutching my teddy bear, instead of holding still while he sliced my face open. The surgery was rescheduled for the hospital, where I could be put under anesthesia and wake up when it was all over.
People rarely notice the scar, and I forget that it's there. In fact, the first time I can remember anyone mentioning it to me was a few weeks ago, when I was introduced to an acquaintance of a friend of mine. He told me that my friend was an epic hero in a past life, and that parts of his story were to be manifested that very night, at a local bar. He said he could tell that I was involved somehow, and that I had the scar on my face to prove it.
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