Wounds and scrathes

He used to get wounds and scratches all the time.

"Mom, I'm hurting and aching!" he cried, tears running down his face. His mom was full of bandages and it still didn't cover every wound that was bleeding, infected, pulsating. But she said it was just a scratch, and that he needn't do anything about them. There were people that had it harder than him out there.

And that's what he did with every scratch and wound. Becoming a walking, breathing and living corpse, flesh barely hanging to his bones, hardly any blood left to even coagualte, rotting cartilages. His eyes, an infected mess because of the horrors he had seen. His mouth muttered no words, for it was mostly mold. And ears he had not.

But still, there were people that had it harder than him out there.