Sunday, 5 December 2010

Journal: 112.12.06

I cut myself shaving today. Inconsequential. I've done that... oh, dozens of times before. But it made me realise something.

I don't have any scars.

Not one. There isn't any visible scar tissue anywhere on my body. Which isn't so weird for a capsuleer wearing a clone that's less than eighty days old. But of course, that's not what I think of myself as being.

I wonder what happened to my first body? Was it destroyed during my first podding? Is it still out there somewhere, tumbling forever between the stars? Or did some creepy pilot scoop it up, bottle it in a refrigeration unit and keep it as a trophy?

If so, I wonder what they think of it? It was a bit of a wreck by the time I vacated it. Regrown knee, dermal plating in the face, resurfaced hip, bones laced with ceramic reinforcement, artificial left eyeball.... Two or three healed bullet holes, LOTS of knife scars from CQB training.

Women like scars. I can't remember how much action I got from persuading girls to check out my old injuries. Too much, probably. It went to my head.

Now, all my scars are internal, healed and healing wounds on to the bit of me that hops bodies and leaves the purely physical injuries behind.

It's much harder to show those to women. And they're nowhere near as attractive when you do.

Save. End.

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