Through the Curved Glass

The tall bookshelf grew too cold as the sun slipped away. I scrambled down through the wooden slats and crossed the wool rug to the coffee table. On the dark surface stood an empty glass tumbler, catching the warm yellow glow of a reading lamp. I approached slowly, testing each step. When I paused beside the curved wall of the glass, the room beyond suddenly bent. The rug warped into a swirling arch, and a lone lamp bulb stretched into a thin streak of amber light. I sat quietly beside it, shifting an inch to watch the whole room distort and reform.