Splinter

I got a splinter in my right hand pointer finger a while ago. The most important finger if you ask me... well, the second most important I guess. It started out as a large splinter. A stick really. The most gargantuan of splinters that forced itself into the under layers of my skin, while I was just minding my own business. It wedged itself in between the groves of my finger print and made it's home festering and turning my pale little finger into a eyesore of redness and irritation. 

I tried pulling the splinter out to no prevail. It refused to budge it's hold on me. It owned my right hand pointer finger now. But overtime I guess it got tired of it's spot it my finger. It got tired of my ceaseless efforts to force it's way out by whatever means possible. Little bit little the splinter worked it's way out of my finger revealing itself to the world then consequently breaking off. Bit by bit. Little by little. Chunk by chunk it relinquished it's seemingly eternal spot in me. And bit by bit. Little by little. Chunk by chunk the pain went away. 

Before long, all that was left was a tiny dot of that wood lodged just beneath my top layer of skin so I could see it rear it's ugly head. It didn't hurt any more. The pain went away. But that little black dot is a constant reminder of it's residency and consequent pain in my finger.