I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.
They tried not to stare, but they couldn't keep their eyes away. I was a freak now. I made people uncomfortable and not necessarily because of my scars-but because what my scars represented. Danger, fear, and the unknown. Something had had happened to me, something not even I could remember. They all probably thought that I was crazy, that I somehow did this to myself. I couldn't blame them. ow could I? They might be right.