“Somebody stabbed you in the neck, young lady.” My eyes widen, and I slowly turn toward the elderly gentleman standing at my side. He presses the up button on the elevator and faces me. He smiles and points to my neck. “Your birthmark,” he says. My hand instinctively goes up to my neck, and I touch the dime-sized mark just below my ear. “My grandfather used to say the placement of a birthmark was the story of how a person lost the battle in their past life.