I broke my glass today after washing it. Two or three fragments fell on the sink, so I easily picked them up. However, when my foot slid quite uncomfortably on the floor, feeling something sandlike underneath, I discovered a tiny shard which had flown farther than the rest. I walked toward the bed, sat on it, and then walked back to the kitchen. To my surprise, when I looked down I discovered red prints which marked the way to my bed and back. Not even then did I feel the pain; only at about 10.30 am did I walk clumsily into the classroom.
I can still remember the bright freshness of my blood decorating the faux wood. Scarlet brushstrokes fading into maroon stamps remind me what is the shape of my heel.
Immediately after I recognized the accidental painting, I wiped it off nonchalantly and limped my way into the shower.