The Bruise

Tom stands over me like a monolith. His hands are balled into fists, gripping the air around me. The sun is behind his face, shining a halo around his head, as if he is the angel of death. I am on the ground. I can feel the coming judgment in my bones. The pain starts from my knee and it spreads internally. My lungs close up, shortening each breath and slowing each blink. He’s looking into me, with those eagle eyes. A bruised knee is a bruised knee. And that meant the world was going to end.