I suppose it is quite the simple template: my body.

Built in the standard way, with the usual systems and cells, skin and bones. It merged to reflect mother and father, and echoes sister and brother, but in the end it is mine and mine alone.

And as such, it bears the burdens of my existence in marks and scars. Chicken pox holes on my forehead, an appendectomy scar on the right side of my stomach/hip, and finally a red sliver scar upon my right nostril. This is the only one I haven’t enjoyed because my vanity won’t allow it. All have several stories attached. All allow me some way to gage the passing years of my life.

I will happily be unable to return my body in the same condition it was issued.