Between two dimples

His face came to me, black and blurred, with only a sharp stare and a knife scar etched on his cheek. Damn that knife! Is it still there, embedded in my memory? And my hand? Don't they still tremble whenever I recall the moment I stabbed him in the face? Where did I get that knife that day, and all that savagery from? There isn't... I only remember the stab... and a knife stuck deep in his cheek, robbing me of my composure, and his bewildered eyes, as he covered his face and screamed, his cries echoing through the hall. I remember them taking me to a small, dark cellar that day, leaving me there alone for a whole night, crying and screaming, trying to convince them that Tony had started the fight, that I was only defending myself... His face approached, distorted, revealing only a sharp, black stare and the knife scar etched on his left cheek. That cursed knife! It's still etched in my memory, in my hand... Why does it still tremble whenever I recall the moment I stabbed him in the face? Where did I find the courage and the barbarity to use that knife that day? I can't say... All I can remember is the stab wound and the knife buried deep in his cheek, robbing me of my composure. His eyes filled with shock as blood covered his face, and screams echoed through the room. I also remember that they locked me away that day in a small, dark cellar, leaving me there alone all night, crying and screaming and sobbing, desperately trying to convince them that Tony had started the attack, that I had only acted in self-defense...