The Mark

The little black spot appeared on her ankle and at first she thought it was just a mole. She dressed and rushed off to school. Her friends giggled and gathered at her locker like every other day and together they trooped the long way to class just to pass all the cute boys on their way.

Her English teacher assigned another paper, she had 20 math problems left to do, and her History teacher assigned a project, partnering her with one of the lazier classmates. It was a normal day. Except her ankle kept itching.

She tried to rub it lightly with her left shoe, but soon that wasn’t enough. She reached down and quietly scratched it with manicured nails. The itching grew worse. As her speech class took turns giving talks, she considered going to the nurse for some cream. At lunch she raced to the bathroom to see the damage her scratching had done. A dark swirl had appeared inside the reddened skin. She gasped.

“You have the mark.”

She froze. The voice had come from the next stall.

“Don’t worry, I have one too.”

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