Paper cuts
”If you want to see a paper cut, I’ll show you a paper cut.” She pulled up the sleeve on her tee and showed me her shoulder. A one-inch scar was barely visible. It was pale and kind of uneven, the middle seemed to be a bit thicker. “A post-it. I sat below and stood up a bit too quick.” I laughed and removed my right sock. I showed her my scar on the side of the foot.
“Some Colorit-papers wasn’t lined up properly in the print shop when I walked by. It hurt like hell. I think it was coated by the way it cut through.” She looked impressed.
“This one then.” She turned around and showed me her neck. “An envelope when I was working extra at the post office. I had to lick it shut afterwards. The envelope I mean. The taste of mint was unbearable.”
“You think that’s bad?” I rolled up my trouser leg and showed her three long parallel scars. “I was stacking some magazines and some of them fell. One fluttered open and did this.” She touched the top of them and let her fingers wander down.
“I can top that.” She pulled up her tee and showed me a long scar around her waist. It began at the side and continues around almost to mid-centre. All in all, it reached a bit longer than one fourth around her.
“Wow,” was all I could say. It was almost surgical in precision.
“I know,” she beamed. “I was bored.” She let go of the tee and it fell slowly down.
“Speaking of bored, I did this the other week. This scar here—” I pointed at one of eight scars on me left forearm, each of them spanning across the entire width. “—is from a Silverblade sheet and this here—” I pointed at another. “—is from Munken Lynx.”
