What's the ugliest part about you? she asked. She looked too eager when she said it, and suddenly her eyes danced like this had been the only thing she had ever wanted to ask anybody since she was old enough to know what the word ugly meant, what it really meant. I was silent, and she smirked in a frightening way and then she said, I'm just naturally curious, that's all.
I didn't know what to say. I rambled a bit about the scar on the right side of my forehead, I said that I didn't believe in God and I told her about the time I got so angry I burned my hand on purpose. She didn't seem interested and so I sighed, exasperated. I really don't know how to answer that, I said. What's the ugliest part about you?
She looked up quickly and tried to be soft about it but it was a harsh look, too harsh a look for someone as pretty as she was. Now her eyes glowed and with those glowing eyes and a smile she softly whispered, I thought you'd never ask.