[ WP ] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon . However , this is just a coincidence ; there is absolutely nothing magical about it , and you 're getting really tired of explaining this .

The sound a van makes when it hits a pedestrian is quieter than one would assume. 
 
 The last thing I ever thought would be going through my mind as said van slammed into me is the toilet paper I ’ d forgotten to buy off my grocery list. 
 Everyone else gets their life flashing before their eyes, and I ’ m stuck with—Oh no, you forgot the damn TP, again! 
 
 Go figure. 
 
 Twisting metal against twisting flesh made for one macabre dance. My luck being what it was, I didn ’ t even get the visual relief of unconsciousness. No, I saw every little infinitesimal moment go by in slow motion. The impact reverberated through my body, up into my soul, until the whole world was consumed by my anguished cries. 
 
 Or if not the whole world then at least, maybe, the two Asian girls that held umbrellas in the pouring LA rain who came to my rescue—once the accident was over. And possibly, the fabulously-fabulous man in his cutoff jean shorts who happened to have a pen and paper handy to write the whole incident down. 
 
 The screams of my sister, Rae, as she watched the whole thing take place just a few steps behind me in the crosswalk—well, they probably filled in where mine left off. Our voices intertwined as we wove a song of fear and terror—five short seconds and one unendingly long note. 
 
 Perhaps they did feel the anguish. 
 
 Either way, they helped my sister get me off the middle of Melrose Ave. and onto the crowded sidewalk—somewhere between the Tokidoki store and Kid Robot. 
 
 With LA drivers being what they are, everyone agreed it was safer to move my broken body than leave it on the water-slicked asphalt. Unknown, blood-soaked, hands grasped my cold, wet limbs. Gingerly, they carried me to the sidewalk and I became the next installation of modern street art. 
 
 Gawking tourists hungry for a free show stood salivating at my demise, Instagram and Twitter documenting in real time. 
 
 I lie there, thoughts fluttering through my mind like the flash of a camera: What ’ s the water doing to my brown leather boots? And, Did anyone look up my dress when I went flying through the air? Circling my head over and over like a vulture. 
 
 The man who hit me stands against a wall with a dumb look on his face. 
 
 No apology. 
 
 No hint he even knows what just took place. 
 
 No remorse. Just a blank stare. 
 
 “ Bri! Oh fuck, Bri, are you okay? I mean, you just got hit. By a van! ” There went Rae stating the obvious. My sis always knew the right things to say. Or, in this case, scream, but I would n't hold it against her. 
 
 This time. 
 
 A weak laugh managed to escape. “ Calm down. I ’ m still alive, right? ” Doubtful stares on the surrounding faces left me uncertain. “ Excuse me, does anyone mind if I smoke a cig? I ’ m a lil ’ shaken up. ” Boy, was that the understatement of the year. Rae ’ s eyebrows almost lift off her face. “ You ’ ve got to be fucking kidding me, Bri. Now? ” 
 The attempt to shrug sent a jolt of pain so sharp and sudden I bit back a scream. “ Well, it ’ s not gon na kill me... today anyway. Come on, please? ” I didn ’ t know if it was my pleading, puppy dog eyes or the blood dripping down my face that made her give in. Either way, she lit me a cancerstick and held it like it was King Arthur ’ s fucking holy chalice. 
 
 I might not have been sucking down sweet, fountain-of-youth water, but I was puffing on a smoke and it had never felt so good—not after drinking, or dinner, not even that after-sex drag. That right there hit the spot. 
 
 Too bad it didn ’ t last. 
 
 I motioned Rae closer with one bloody finger and whispered up to her. 
 
 `` Do n't let them see the mark. You know what they'll think.'' 
 
 `` I... I do n't know if that can be helped. You're missing half of your dress. I mean, you're in bad shape Bri.'' 
 
 I craned my neck hoping against hope she was wrong. But no, there along my back, for all the world to see, was the mark of the dragon I'd been born with. For the last 24 years my family had done everything they could to keep it hidden. On the rare occasion when it was exposed I always got the same result. 
 
 People would quiver and shake, like their bones had instantly turned to Jello. Some would bow or kneel. But regardless, they all would treat me like I was their savior come again. 
 
 I'd scream, cry, whisper, `` It's only a birthmark for fuck's sake. Stand you fools!'' 
 
 It did n't matter. Everyone knew the prophecy. I wish the fucking messiah would just show up again so I could get on with my life. As of yet, there'd be no such luck. 
 
 And now, as I lay broken upon the hard concrete of a dirty LA sidewalk for just one moment, somewhere deep inside, I wished they were right. 
 
 But today there was no magic to be found. 
 
 Coughs sent spasms through me. My screams drowned in the raindrops. One of the girls almost dropped her umbrella. The other elbowed her sharply and spoke something—not in words. 
 
 Shit, my brain's melting. 
 
 Or maybe that was just rain falling on my head. 
 
 Sirens filled the air. About damn time. Of course, this was La-La Land and traffic ’ s always a problem. Even for the emergency-impaired. No injured soul got in the way of a bouffant styled, Louboutin wearing, third Mercedes driving—cause the other two didn ’ t match her shoes—gal around town. No, even cops are slowed down by the rich and famous. Ambulance drivers? 
 
 Forget about it. 
 
 Voices fade in and out. 
 
 `` Dragon.'' 
 
 `` Ma-ma-mar k. k. k.'' 
 
 “ Uh, I don ’ t feel so good. Can we go to the hospital now? I think I ’ m having a panic attack. ” 
 
 How can my... my... my chest hold a flying bird? It hurts. Why is it trying to break my ribs? Stupid fucking bird. My toes. I—I can ’ t-t-t-t f-f-f-feel my-my-my to— 
 
 “ Shit, I think she ’ s going into cardiac arrest. Quick, start CPR. ” 
 
 Rae ’ s voice rises, shrill and urgent. “ Bri! ” This time, TP is not on my mind as I fade away. The 90s were—and I ’ m dancing in a dark club, strobe lights and lasers surrounding me. And my body feels like it ’ s about to explode. Of course, that ’ s probably just the ecstasy, but who cares? 
 
 Fucking stupid birthmark. Why ca n't you be magical when I need it most? 
 
 Then my brain stopped working and I knew no more. 
 
 
 
 

