[ WP ] When a child is born , he is born with tattoos that will tell the story of his life . He spends years trying to decipher them , but - as it is with everyone - he is unable to . As life goes on , however , situations surface and he begins to understand his tattoos .

It started on the first day in the new school. 
 
 At first, the school uniform allowed people to see only the tattoos located on the arms and legs of each other. Then, some students began to appear with `` illustrated'' versions of it. Parents ordered to replicate their children's tattoos in the fabric ( which ended up creating a multi-million dollar industry in a short time ) because most of them were proud of the story told by the drawing in the body of their children. But there were also people who did not feel any pride in their body images, or even possessed the understanding of its meaning. Me? I was neither one nor the other. I simply did not care about any of that. I continued to use my conventional uniform. As my only two tattoos were located in the chest and back, I did not show anything to anyone. 
 
 And people noticed that. 
 
 Watchful eyes looked me deeply as I walked to my seat. 
 I noticed several types of murmurs and comments coming from various corners of the room, until the teacher asked for silence and I settled in my seat. 
 
 Everything went well and that day I learned about chemical reactions. 
 
 A few days later, I realized that many students chose to wear uniforms without prints, with elongated sleeves and pants instead of shorts or skirts. Without realizing it, I have created a trend. Some people had come to choose to hide their tattoos rather than reveal them. The number of people who `` hid'' grew quickly, and soon received the nickname `` erased''. 
 
 Then, prejudice took shape. 
 The whole school frowned upon the `` erased'', because according to the bullies, nothing gave more pride than demonstrate the dollar sign in palm of your hand, or the stamped diamond in the neck. Before long, I ended up being treated as an `` erased'' too. At first, people were mocking me just for of fun, and just a few really cursed me. In a few weeks, some people began to be beaten lightly, in the form of a `` healthy play''. Two months later, it was not uncommon to receive in school dismayed parents asking about their child broken arm, or asking why their children had their hair cut by force and skin burned by cigarette butts. Prejudice turned into evil, and evil turned into violence. 
 
 Then I was attacked for the first time. 
 
 During the exchange of rooms some girls took me by the hair and dragged me through the hallway into the girl's restroom. That afternoon I got home with a black eye. My mother then talked to the principal but that just made the girls angrier. After the third attack I asked my mother to transfer me, but she claimed it was impossible to find a place at that time of the year and I could not risk losing the school year, since I would be the first of the family to manage to complete high school. 
 
 In a certain afternoon, I was coming home later as I had been studying chemistry in the library - something that had become my passion during high school - and decided to take a shortcut 
 
 through the park jogging track. I would save around fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, I saw five girls riding their bicycle in the opposite direction. I prayed so they would that pass me by, but I believe not being a religious person made my request fell on low-priority queue. The kicks that hit me while I was on the ground hurt me in an irreversible fashion, the doctor told me and my mom. 
 
 The damage to my uterus was severe and I could never have children. 
 
 The girls did not even get suspended since we were at a good distance from the school and nothing could be proved. 
 And the beatings continued. 
 Some people have given up covering their tattoos, no matter how embarrassing or nonsensical they were, after what happened to me. The `` trend I created,'' was becoming old fashioned after all. 
 
 That afternoon, the philosophy teacher taught us regarding the Greek schools of thought, and during a very brief explanation about the Greek alphabet, I realized something that changed me forever. That was beyond culture or philosophical teachings. That afternoon I could understand myself. 
 
 And I began to laugh uncontrollably. 
 
 I felt the glare of my nemesis uppon me but I could not care less. Even when they tore my front teeth in the restroom's wall corner, or when they stuck my head in the toilet seat full of feces. That stubborn smile never left my face. 
 
 And it persisted, weeks on end, even with all the assaults, with every scar I have come to collect. 
 
 That afternoon, during chemistry lab - my favorite class - I took a series of bottles from my backpack and started the ritual that I had been studying for months. The girls looked at me, making some suggestive gestures of violence, death and other forms of creative aggression. One of them quietly withdrew a retractable dagger from its purse, inaugurating a new level of threat. 
 
 I continued my experiment, simply ignoring them. Even after the bell announced the end of the class I stayed at my lab desk. The other students began to leave. The girls realized my inertia and poked each other. They decided to procrastinate their exit for a little, pretending to seek things in their purses/backpacks. The teacher said: 
 
 - Girls, I must quickly go to the restroom, please behave yourself. 
 
 They looked at each other excited with the premise of a short time alone with me. 
 Once the teacher came out, one closed the door behind herself and turned the lock. 
 
 She was the one with the dagger. 
 
 - Is n't it our lucky day girls? - Said wryly, leading the others to laugh. 
 
 They formed a semi-circle in front of me. 
 
 - I've been thinking, since this `` erased'' does not have anything to show, we might as well provide a very beautiful drawing for her, is n't it? 
 
 The other girls giggled with excitement. 
 
 - What do you think I should draw? 
 
 She started walking toward me and stopped instantly as I opened the zipper of my jacket. Today, I was without the uniform shirt underneath. 
 
 - What is this shit? Are you showing your tits for us? 
 
 I took the off the jacket. 
 
 - Well, well, does n't she have a drawing after all? - One of them said. 
 
 - I know this one. It is a Greek character. Alpha. - Answered the girl with the dagger. 
 
 - What does it mean? - Another girl asked. 
 
 - It means `` beginning''. That's it. There will be where we are going to start drawing in her... 
 
 I turned my back. 
 The silence told me that she got the message. 
 
 - What's wrong? Look, she has another drawing on her back. You know what that means as well? 
 
 A few seconds of silence made me smile. 
 
 She stammered as he spoke: 
 
 - It is an o-o-o-omega. It m-means `` end''. 
 
 Without turning back, I slapped the bottle full of solution that was on my desk and sent it flying until it hit the wall. 
 There was no time for anything else. 
 
 For running. 
 Nor screaming. 
 Anything. 
 
 The nitroglycerin exploded all of us in a matter of seconds.
