One minute I'm strolling along through the winter wonderland we call Europe, the next moment i've slipped on the ice and landed on the floor.  My left knee hit the pavement first, with a sickeningly loud crunch at the point of impact.  The initial pain was as if my knee had been struck with the hammer of Thor himself.  My scream was wordless, yet manly.  Like if Leonidas of Sparta had suffered the same fate.

Now throw in the token dutch girl asking if I was okay, and my casual dismissal of the pain as I got to my feet again.

I convinced myself not to take a look at wound yet.  It would only make it hurt more if I saw all the blood.  It felt like there was bone or muscle poking through a gaping wound.  But I had a letter to post and not even shattering my kneecap could stop me from posting it.  So I limped on.

The real pain only lasted a few moments.  Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?  Where the shock wears off and then you start feeling the pain?

It was only once I got home that I took a look at the damage.  Nothing.  No gore.  No blood.  No bruises.  Nothing.

Still hurts though.