Original Fiction - "Bruises" - PG
Tumblr post: maybe the little bruises and cuts that show up on your body seemingly out of nowhere are actually little injuries that happened to your soulmate and you get the same marks on your skin as them.
This is my quick take on the idea (I dare you to guess who the characters are based on).
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Marcy was 13 the first time she knew it happened. It was late on a Saturday morning and she was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal and half listening to her Mom talk about something when her left eye stared to ache, “Mom?”
Her mom looked up from across the table, then jumped to her feet, “Marcy, what happened?”
Marcy gently touched her check, just under her eye, and hissed at the pain it caused.
“Here baby,” her mom handed her a towel with some ice in it. As she reached out to take it Marcy saw that the knuckles on her hand were bright red and one was even bleeding. After a minute her Mom said, “Well, at least you know your soul mate isn't afraid of a fight.”
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After that Marcy would take a few minutes every night before bed to do a quick bruise check.
Largish round one on her thigh? Hers from soccer.
Red knuckles? Theirs, from boxing her Dad said.
Nick on her jaw? His.
Nick on her ankle? Hers, also from shaving.
Blister? Hers from new heels at the prom.
Hickey on her collar bone? Not hers.
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She stopped keeping such a close eye on the marks once she started collage, but every so often a mark would show up and Marcy would stop for a second to wonder what he had just done.
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One muggy evening while she was out with some friends Marcy felt a sharp stinging on her hip. A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed that somewhere out in the world her soul mate had just got a tattoo. Whats done, is done. “I guess so.”
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It was four years later before Marcy really thought about her soul mate again. She sat in a wheelchair, wearing a thin hospital gown, and sent out a quick thought, “It's for my cousin, I'm alright - really. Don't freak out.”
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Whoever he was, he was active. Even as Marcy settled down to a steady job working as a receptionist at a dentist office - a job that didn't give her a lot of chances to get bumped - she still had a collection of small bruises.
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“We're going to NYC for the weekend.” Marcy's cousin said as she flopped onto the couch, “That actor you think is hot is doing a show on Broadway and I got us tickets for a preview!”
Marcy looking over at her cousin, “You think he's hot too.”
“I do, so we both can camp out at the stage door and get his autograph.”
So there they where, standing in an wet ally, just a few steps away from James Marks.
“You were so amazing,” the girl in front of them was gushing, “The way you took that hit from what's his name, with the sword? I was sure you really got stabbed!”
The girl was right, at that moment in the play there had been a loud “Crack!” that had left Marcy grabbing her side in sympathy. The girl finally moved away and Marcy stepped forward - right at the same time as someone opened the stage door. The handle landed directly in her hip and she let out a grunt of pain.
“Are you all right?” James Marks was touching her.
As much as she hated to, Marcy pulled away, “I'm sure I'm fine.” She pulled up her shirt hem and peeked at the spot that was already turning yellow.
“Um... Is that?” James Marks was touching the tattoo!
“Oh, it's not actually mine,” she said, feeling like an idiot.
“No, it's mine.”
This is my quick take on the idea (I dare you to guess who the characters are based on).
------------------------------
Marcy was 13 the first time she knew it happened. It was late on a Saturday morning and she was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal and half listening to her Mom talk about something when her left eye stared to ache, “Mom?”
Her mom looked up from across the table, then jumped to her feet, “Marcy, what happened?”
Marcy gently touched her check, just under her eye, and hissed at the pain it caused.
“Here baby,” her mom handed her a towel with some ice in it. As she reached out to take it Marcy saw that the knuckles on her hand were bright red and one was even bleeding. After a minute her Mom said, “Well, at least you know your soul mate isn't afraid of a fight.”
------------------------------
After that Marcy would take a few minutes every night before bed to do a quick bruise check.
Largish round one on her thigh? Hers from soccer.
Red knuckles? Theirs, from boxing her Dad said.
Nick on her jaw? His.
Nick on her ankle? Hers, also from shaving.
Blister? Hers from new heels at the prom.
Hickey on her collar bone? Not hers.
------------------------------
She stopped keeping such a close eye on the marks once she started collage, but every so often a mark would show up and Marcy would stop for a second to wonder what he had just done.
------------------------------
One muggy evening while she was out with some friends Marcy felt a sharp stinging on her hip. A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed that somewhere out in the world her soul mate had just got a tattoo. Whats done, is done. “I guess so.”
------------------------------
It was four years later before Marcy really thought about her soul mate again. She sat in a wheelchair, wearing a thin hospital gown, and sent out a quick thought, “It's for my cousin, I'm alright - really. Don't freak out.”
------------------------------
Whoever he was, he was active. Even as Marcy settled down to a steady job working as a receptionist at a dentist office - a job that didn't give her a lot of chances to get bumped - she still had a collection of small bruises.
------------------------------
“We're going to NYC for the weekend.” Marcy's cousin said as she flopped onto the couch, “That actor you think is hot is doing a show on Broadway and I got us tickets for a preview!”
Marcy looking over at her cousin, “You think he's hot too.”
“I do, so we both can camp out at the stage door and get his autograph.”
So there they where, standing in an wet ally, just a few steps away from James Marks.
“You were so amazing,” the girl in front of them was gushing, “The way you took that hit from what's his name, with the sword? I was sure you really got stabbed!”
The girl was right, at that moment in the play there had been a loud “Crack!” that had left Marcy grabbing her side in sympathy. The girl finally moved away and Marcy stepped forward - right at the same time as someone opened the stage door. The handle landed directly in her hip and she let out a grunt of pain.
“Are you all right?” James Marks was touching her.
As much as she hated to, Marcy pulled away, “I'm sure I'm fine.” She pulled up her shirt hem and peeked at the spot that was already turning yellow.
“Um... Is that?” James Marks was touching the tattoo!
“Oh, it's not actually mine,” she said, feeling like an idiot.
“No, it's mine.”