Scars By Calissa Treat   Bumpy, pink flesh. Faded from time draining the crimson blood out of it. The lines bend left and right, climbing up to the forehead like a strand of stray hair.   I notice the woman behind the counter at the post office. Her faded, gray uniform matches the milky tone of her skin. The only thing that has any color on her face is the long, banana-shaped scar on her right cheek. She avoids turning her face too far to the left when she slaps a stamp onto the envelope I slide over to her. “Your mail will be sent out right away ma’am.”   I spot the four flaky scars that lie on top of one another like…