Prose: "contuse"

Trip, fall, stumble. Time turns to mercury when you're falling. Hands reaching out, body twisting minutely, snap-judgements -- how accurate? -- when you're heading towards the pavement. How to slow the fall. How to turn the body to save yourself from the pain.

Sometimes, you fall on all fours. Hands, knees. Bang, bang. Bruises like sickened flowers blossoming beneath a sky of skin.

Wear them with pride. Only those with blood in their veins can bruise.