Bruises Named in Color
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In my family, I was more a shield than a sibling. As the youngest, I endured the penalties
for my siblings' deeds, a twisted tradition passed down by our father,
a former soldier. He believed that a single sacrifice would forge an unbreakable family bond.
My mother, reared in a similar environment, echoed his beliefs, saying it united
us. By 7, I'd flinch at any quick movement. Dad was a respected
officer, so my situation seemed implausible. I tracked my pain, coloring my skin
with memories of my siblings' transgressions. Red for Marcus's petty crimes. Purple for Diana's
betrayals. Green for Gabriel's reckless antics. On my tenth birthday, the cycle cracked.
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