as queer as a clockwork orange

I lifted myself up and slowly twisted my arm around. Right below my elbow was an unsightly mixture of pebbles and blood. The gravel path had completely scraped the skin off. The blood was seeping slowly out of the parallel cuts made by the rocks to form a uniform red patch. I looked at it closely and saw the different layers of skin that had been cut up. They were clearly visible under the bright afternoon sun. Bright red. But scar tissue will eventually replace the blood. A scar will gradually inhabit the scrape, covering up what used to be normal. A painful reminder of how fragile human lives are.

Our lives are continually scraped open by the sharp edges of conflict. Layer after layer of skin is peeled back as we observe the malfunctioning muscles and tendons of others and of ourselves. All our inner workings, our most hidden secrets are revealed. Painfully, we watch others as they shed the blood of their actions and beliefs but we can do nothing but wait for the scar tissue to form and the scar to heal. Physical abrasions. Abrasions to the heart. They all expose our fragility. But  all we need is some antibiotics, a few bandages, and a little patience. Our broken selves will heal themselves eventually. Just wait.