January 30, 2020
In 7th grade, as I was walking to class, I was holding a pencil and swinging my arms. Somehow, the sharpened pencil pierced the palm of my right hand, by the bottom of my life line. It didn't particularly hurt. In removing the pencil, the tip broke off and remained in my hand. The hole was perfectly circular, maybe a millimeter, bloodless, and the graphite seemed flush against my skin.
No one saw, and I didn't tell anyone. After a week the hole had covered up with skin, and the edges of the dark circle were fuzzier, but the tip was still in there. Now it's a little deeper, and the circle is only a faded but certain spot. If I am ever cloned or otherwise impersonated, this is how you'll know me.