No bleeding. No tissue trauma. No concussion. I guess I'm alright, really. I'm not going to the hospital, though: they might tell me I'm dead. And like the cartoon coyote who doesn't fall until he realises he's running on air, I would sink into that darkness.
(My god, but it hurts though. I betrayed and destroyed something beautiful. If it were one of those brutal arbitrary acts of fortune (Sors immanis et inanis rota tu volubilis, status malus, vana salus, semper dissolubilis...) it would be easy enough to be fatalistic. The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame, and that other man who is carefully fixing a noose in the doorway is facing ultimate consequence because there is no one else left to blame.)