A Snap in the Wall

My heavy fingers found a wooden yardstick propped against the grey wall studs. It was dry, notched, and brittle from years in the stale air. I wedged the thin edge beneath a loose section of peeling drywall, tilting my weight forward until the wood bowed into an arch. A sharp, splintering crack tore through the quiet hallway as the stick snapped in half. I held the jagged piece close to my chest joint, turning the raw, broken grain under the dim overhead emergency beam before resting it atop the fuse box.