2. Virgil – Bruise
When he fell from a first floor window, Virgil had been peppered with bruises. He'd twisted in the air and landed on his hands and knees, tearing the skin, splattering his blood on the concrete. In the days afterwards came the bruises.
He hadn't meant to fall out the window. But in the heat of a rescue, sense was sometimes overridden by enthusiasm. He'd misjudged the distance he had to play with and…
Two days afterwards, he looked as though he'd been pummelled with purple paint. Huge patches of discoloured skin blossomed on his shins, his knees, his forearms, his hands. It was as if he'd been caught in a blackberry patch – quite literally, purple handed.
"Virgil, it's a good thing you bounce!" Gordon had joked. "That could have been nasty."
After that came the gentle ribbing. The little comments.
"Watch out for that window!"
"Careful, Virg. You don't want to fall!"
"We can't afford to fix any craters in the brickwork, you know!"
He'd always been a resilient sort of person, tough as nails and never one to lie down and admit defeat. The bruises started to heal, passing through purple to green to yellow until they could no longer be seen.
Unfortunately, there were other hurts that hadn't healed so well.
Like his bruised ego. He would never live that down…
