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Punk reminds me that I have a tiny scar right in the centre of my chest where I was stabbed in a music lesson when I was 14 (with a nail file, no less).
A guy I sort of got on with, but wasn't a mate (called Kieron) stole a manicure set from a girl in the class, and started pretending to fence with me. I was ignoring him (sat across the table from him) when he made his coup de gras, stopping before he hit home, and snagging the front of my uniform shirt.
About ten minutes later, I sat up straight and the shirt made contact with the blood that had been seeping out of a tiny wound I hadn't felt.
The teacher practically shat himself, because it looked to him like I'd gone from clean white shirt to bright red chest - I think he was expecting an alien to burst out of my chest. I hadn't noticed it until Kieron pointed it out.
The school nurse was called, and I was disinfected and forced to go home in her car - half way through the school day, and with my bike left at school.
I gave my bike lock key to Kieron, who rode it home to my house.
I met him in a pub 20 years later, and it turns out he didn't remember it at all.
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Overhead, the Albatross hangs motionless upon the air,
And deep beneath the rolling waves,
In labyrinths of Coral Caves,
The Echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand;
And everthing is Green and Submarine
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