A part in family

I awoke on the wrestling mat that morning, and yawned and stretched and tried to come to life. I opened my eyes and saw asbestos dangling from the ceiling, and I heard my mind humming the Dolly Parton song about getting out of bed 9 to 5 every day, and I shuddered.

The shudder was brief, and I yawned again, and brought my hands back under my head. My mind stopped humming Dolly’s voice as soon as I felt a new bump on the back of my scalp.

“Shit!” I exclaimed loudly enough to echo, even with the asbestos damping sounds.

I quickly sat upright and felt the bump with both hands, then stumbled off the mat and stumbled to the bathroom, and twisted my body to look at the back of my head. My fingers felt the familiar raised ridge of my scar and, and just below it I felt a new, small bump.

I parted my hair and forced my eyeballs as far into their corners as possible in order to verify what I knew was under the part in my hair, and after a attempting a few angles, I finally saw a raised ring of red and pink ringworm.

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