"How can things ever bealright?" I asked the love of my life, "Our only child is dead!" I saidand felt tears forming in my eyes. "I know and I miss hi... just as muchas you do," she informed. "It's just so unfair," I managed to barelywhisper before I started crying. "It's just so unfair..."My name is Alvin Jones, not that it really matters for the purpose ofthis story, and I am 49 years old. I live in Los Angeles, California andhave worked for the same truck company since I was 24. The woman. She was right. The flannel fell away from his skin after she peeled back the blanket and went to work on the buttons. She had never seen a man's body before (her father and her brother didn't count, of course).Nor had she ever seen anything like the scars.She had first glimpsed them when Mother changed his shirt. They spiderwebbed across his torso and back, harrowing slashes of red that made her seethe. Tears came to her eyes. Who had done this to him? What had he done to deserve it? What could. More

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