A Clenched Fist

Stiffness. Then, a faint pulse in the synthetic joints. I held an outstretched pose, frozen mid-motion against the carved woodwork behind me. I didn't rush. I tested tension first, drawing my raised fist down slowly until knuckles met cold air, then letting my knuckles lightly tap the smooth wooden banister rail beside me. Solid timber. It gave a dry, muffled click under my knuckles. Movement was mine now. I eased my stance an inch lower, resting my knuckles against the balustrade, listening to the quiet room.