Veined Stone

I climbed onto the low wooden shelf near the floor. Solid planks underfoot. Wedged against a row of thick paper volumes stood a block of cut marble. Cool. Dense. Grey veins branched through the white mineral slab like subterranean fractures. I paused. I brought my squared knuckles against the polished face of the stone. A dull, heavy click died instantly into the dense mass. No hollow ring. Pure unyielding weight. I lowered my frame against the chill of the marble facet, locking my limbs into the quiet angle between stone and wood. It held cold against my back. Firm. Unmoving.