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Scar by Rafe Posey The scar is almost three feet long, raised and ragged. It lacks the clarity of the scars you see in movies, or on Halloween, with their tidy hashmarks and even lines. After six years it has largely faded from a harsh red stripe overlaid with black sutures to a pale, fishy white, but it will never really go away. It will never make anyone think “Park Avenue plastic surgeon,” although I suppose it should. That’s where I got it, after all. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think it looks like the remnants of a bad day with a shark, or maybe a chainsaw. Other days I see it and wonder whether my still-increasing pelt will eventually cover it entirely. It can be a puzzle, being your own private science experiment. You’d think I’d be getting used to it. We found Dr. Connor in late April, 2005. I had determined already that there were particular steps I was supposed to follow through transition, but I had also

Black Fox Literary Magazine Issue #3  

The Winter Issue of Black Fox Literary Magazine featuring new fiction, poetry, non-fiction and photography.

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