ImaFoxWriting
My hand slipped on the edge of the glass. red blotted out of the cut. I sighed and turned on the cold water and stuck my hand under the stream. It stung and I hissed at the pain.
His hands were weathered and scared. He would stare at his hands in awe of what he had done to them. He wasnt upset by it. Not at all. It excited him. The fact that something he loved as much as music can leave scars visible for everyone to see.