Bruises Named in Color

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.