The Prince Of Scars

We called the old man The Prince Of Scars.
He was brought to the hospital last winter, frozen solid.
We stripped him and put him in a tub of warm water, reviving him slowly.
His body was completely covered with painful creases, knots, deformations, and agonizing twists.
“What happened to you?” I asked him.
“Life didn’t pass me by,” he moaned. “It took one look at me and tore me apart.”
He didn’t say anything else.
We couldn’t get a name off of him and his fingerprints were long destroyed.
He left that morning.
Think he’ll be back next winter?