Another year had gone by and as I woke up that morning, I knew that it was going to be a memorable day. Even though several winters had marked my feeble heart and scarred my bright pupils, my heart pumped like never before. I had always completed my morning routine, to a point in which if any of its steps was cut short, partially altered, or omitted, my day would lag. Resulting in a bitter aura that would affect others around me. I knew by then, that people would, sort of tolerate me, for I had earned their respect little by little. Yet, I was aware of the slow-motion wounds that I would inflict to the innocents in my way. I took no pleasure in doing this. But I have to admit that bearing the scars made me feel more like a war hero. People generally tend to admire and respect those, and won't ask questions. Even if they talked behind my back, it felt like an ego boost. Secretly, until that day. The alarm clock went off as expected. It was 5:00am on that cold spring day. You could ...