Tears well up as I trace the scars on my stomach. I trace the angry pink S. S as in socially awkward. S as in single. S as in S**t. I remember that day, the day they marked me. I still have nightmares. My finger moves onto the next letter, the L. L as in loser. L as in loner. L as in lacking. They grabbed me from behind. It was twilight, I was on a run. They grabbed me and duct taped my hands and legs. They held me down, I never had a chance. U comes next. U as in ugly. U as in unattractive. U as in useless. I can still feel the knife raking across the pale skin of my stomach. I remember trying to scream, but no sound coming out. I remember them laughing as I blacked out in pain. T comes last. T as in terrible. T as in tasteless. T as in tacky. I remember waking up in a pool of my own blood. I remember the pain that shot through my body whenever I moved. I remember trying to stand and blacking out again. I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember looking at my stomach. And seeing the word S**T permanently written there. And every time I forget what I am, all I have to do is look at my stomach because that was the day they branded me.