The Coolest Scar Story Ever

A Story by booklove098

I've started a short story writing challenge where I have to write one short story per week with different prompts. This is my Week 1 story with the prompt being tell about a scar.

The music blasted from the radio as I set up the game console in the dimly lit dorm room. Judy, my best friend, walked in with a bag of pretzels and 2 cans of soda. Music, video games and junk food, the perfect recipe for the perfect sleepover.

As we settled in, I leaned over my bed to get my glasses. My shirt rode up, exposing my back, which was when Judy exclaimed, “HOLY S**T! What’s wrong with your back?”

Of course, my first instinct was to panic. “My back? What? What’s wrong with it?” I freaked, my hands instantly patted the back of my shirt, searching for any sign of a problem.

“There’s a huge scar, and by huge, I mean HUGE!” Judy responded, reaching out to the bottom of the shirt and lifting it up to get a better look. Immediately, I relaxed and rolled my eyes in relief.

“Seriously?! My scar? That was the reason for your whole freak out?” I cried, turning to face her.

“How in hell did you get that? Did you wrestle a bear?!” she asked incredulously, “No, no, wait, don’t tell me, you pissed off a shark, didn’t you? I mean, hell, you’re crazy enough to do it!”

I chuckled as I reached under my shirt, tracing the outline of the scar with the tip of my finger. My lips stretched into a fond smile as I flashed back to last summer, aka the origin of my coolest scar story.

It all started with a pair of jean shorts. There was a huge sale at this amazing store, and everyone was excited and I really do mean everyone. As I drove by the store the night before the sale, I witnessed the beginnings of the very long line of people camping out that would soon form at store’s entrance. Now I’ve never been much of a shopaholic nor did I really care about owning the “coolest” clothes. However on display at the window of the store were a pair cute jean shorts and since it was the beginning of summer and all, I was in need of a new pair of shorts. Instead of camping outside the store for 12 hours, like the rest of the dedicated customers, I decided just to show up the next day. What my brilliant self had not realized at the time was the ridiculous amount of traffic that would congest the street on said day. After an excruciating hour stuck in the same place in my suffocating, small car on one of the hottest days New York had ever experienced, all I wanted was to head home. At this point I had long ago given up my dream of owning the jean shorts, and I was impatiently waiting for the next exit so I could escape this hell. However, an hour later, and to this day I still do not understand the logic of my next move, I left my car in the middle of the congested street and headed towards the store, my hair a mess and my clothes drenched in sweat. I was going to get my damn jean shorts no matter what. The chaotic crowd at the store was unbelievable; People were quite literally pouring out of the entrance. I squeezed my way into the store and somehow, as though a reward for ‘patiently’ enduring 2 hours of torture, there was one last pair of the shorts. By the time I had reached the shelf, another girl had noticed the shorts, which, after all I had gone through, was unacceptable. As we both grabbed the cloth at the same time, I shot her my most menacing look and whether it was my crazy eyes or my frantic state, she reluctantly dropped the shorts and walked away with a “humph”. I rushed to the nearest cashier, and after a 20 minute wait, checked out with a victorious smile and a cute pair of jean shorts. It took me a few seconds to remember that I had parked my car in the middle of traffic and that I was probably the cause of the ongoing commotion on the street. So I did what anyone else would have, I ran blindly to the car. What I didn’t notice were the orange cones and the large warning sign preventing any pedestrian from walking into the open sewer, which was exactly what I did. On my way down into the stinky, dark sewer my shirt caught on a nail protruding from the ladder, which dug quite deep into my back and created a scar stretching from the bottom of my neck to my left hip. My screams brought forth a crowd of worried onlookers who quickly called the ambulance. 2 days later I left the hospital with a broken wrist, a sprained ankle and 15 stitches and then I remebered the shorts which I had left in the sewer. In the end, after this whole fiasco, I didn’t even get the damn jean shorts.

“Nah, I fell down the sewers,” I smirked, watching for her reaction. She frowned, then dropped her jaw.

“You what? No way! You did not fall down the sewers!” she exclaimed, “Spill the story now, Alderman. Now!”

I laughed, and crossed my legs preparing to retell one of my worst days and best memories.