A Tiny Clack

A click inside. My center pupil rattles, settling into focus. Cool plaster against my paper back. Very stiff, then... a sudden spark. I twitch my magenta arm. The tiny paper slip caught in my fingers wavers. A dark pit marks the wall just beside my head, like a hollow crater. I stretch my fingertips outward, decisive and swift. My paper edges tap the edge of the pit with a sharp clack. Solid. Real. I am here, grounded to the plaster.