Pacific Rim of Fire

Photo by raquel raclette on Unsplash

I can’t remember the last time I got a physical injury. A wound so long, and ragged or, a gash so poetically drawn that viewed in its entirety, mimics art —the deep dark crimson flames of the Pacific Rim of Fire. Fat globules of maroon coagulate like black molten lava leisurely making their way down my leg, slowly hardening into lumps of coal. How did I get here? This morning, I jumped over a colossal drain by the sidewalk. My right leg fell straight in, knee-deep. My kneecap caught between the tarnished cold iron grills awkwardly. Like Cinderella, my slipper slipped off the dangling right foot… down into the murky waters far below. The embarrassment of having to ask for help was far more mortifying than any possible injury at the time. With a deep breath, I pulled my leg out. My leg slid out like a mannequin’s, like a dirtied popsicle. A 10 cm ring of fire has formed and is burning like wildfire. Oh! The tingling burn — it has been too long since I felt this prickly sensation of… cut bare skin. Man, it feels good. I come home to write about it before the Betadine because really, there is no other feeling quite as exquisite as this.