Clear Trajectory

The windowsill was high, but static. I dropped straight down to the rug and advanced toward the coffee table. A glass marble sat lodged against the leg of a wooden stool, completely stationary. I did not walk around it. I lined up my stance, swung my heel, and struck the sphere dead-center. It shot across the hardwood floor with a fierce clatter, ricocheted off the brass foot of the table, and slammed into an empty metal tin. Direct hit. The path across the floor is open.