I suffered a significant fall while blading on the trail yesterday. In so doing, my entire left side body met with a barbarous blacktop impact. Consequently, I sustained contusions and/or lacerations at my shoulder, hip, tummy, arms, and a hand-sized road-rash hematoma brilliantly arose like Jesus Christ from my upper thigh.
Afterward, I crawled gingerly to my knees, whimperingly brushed the rocky pavement from my sticky, sweaty body, and doggedly skated the final ten miles in honeyed elation. At every stoplight, I took a long moment to admire the hot red damage. Overnight, while turning onto my left side, I awoke to white searing pain and grinned to myself in sheer glory. Following the fall, kniflets of wanton dolor cascaded satisfactorily down my leg wherever I seated myself.
Naturally, I was sure to select my shortest skirt while dressing this morning so that I could gain unfettered access to my injuries, which have already elicited gasping, mouth-covering reactions from gazers-on. The aforementioned bruises haven’t begun to ripen and aren’t yet photograph-worthy, but I hope to soon capture for posterity a souvenir image of the anticipated purpling-green wonder that only a raging masochist could unequivocally cherish.