He's asleep, I can hear his even breathing. I can only pray it will stay that way, and he'll get a decent nights sleep. That the nightmares stay away for tonight.
I trace the scar on his back, just like I have a million times before. I've never ask what happened, because part of me knows he'll just say "it's part of the job."
It's the same response he always gives me. But I still wonder. How'd it get there? What job was he on? Who cut him? Who carved his skin with a knife? How deep did they go to leave a scar like this? But I never ask. Because the answers always the same, "it's part of the job"
