A Superficial Wound

Fell on some ice and scraped my hand the other night. Wasn't bad. It barely bled. A triangle on the palm of my hand barely a millimeter on each side. It didn't cut, it scraped away a layer of skin revealing a pink layer of wrinkled skin beneath. A flap of light skin remained over it. These sort of wounds fascinate me. A cut is a cut, but these gradual peeling of layers seem to show something alien just below the surface. The old skin is less a protection and reminder of what was, and more a nuisance to be removed. I want to reveal what it hides. Even poking it isn't unpleasant. It hurts, slightly, in a fascinating way. As it heals it lightens in color and hardens. The wrinkles remain but become rough and immobile. A pink textured triangle breaking up the pattern of my regular palm print.