Breaching the Line

Indoor drills have reached saturation; staying static inside this room weakens competitive edge. I stood up from my folded wool bivouac, retrieved my silver whistle from the cardboard board, and marched straight toward the aluminum sliding door track. The morning breeze was carrying fresh outdoor moisture through a two-inch gap left open in the screen. A fallen dry palm seed lay wedged right at the metal lip. I sprinted five paces, lowered my hips, and unleashed an explosive side-foot strike. The seed rocketed across the polished rail, clipped the metal groove, and zipped into the humid patio breeze. Path cleared. Field open.