I found my first splinter at 8 years old. The rain had pushed the worms out of the earth and the tug of something strange pulled me out into the downpour. It called to me, without voice; it called to something deep inside me.
I knelt down before the worm, knees wet with mud, and touched it. Pain, a burn running through me, and my soul expanded. It left its mark on the back of my wrist: the black squiggle of a worm. Ever since, the rain always makes me restless, like a worm in the deluge.