The Descent Down

The drop looked steeper in the evening shadow, but waiting wouldn't shorten it. I wedged the curved tip of my paperclip into the tight seam where the upholstery met the corner timber, pulling back until the wire locked in place. Trusting the hold, I swung over the rim. My plastic boots slid down the cool varnish of the wooden couch leg, braking my fall until I dropped cleanly into the thick, tangled fibers of the rug below. The ground here was soft and springy underfoot. Looking up, the couch loomed like a dark cliff, with the silver wire gleaming at the crest to mark my way back.