Claiming the Sunbeam

The dark under the shelf grew stale. Too cramped to see everything at once. I dragged myself out, keeping my lantern clutched tight against my ribs, and hauled my haul toward high ground. Up the curtain fold. Claw over fabric. The wide wooden windowsill caught the morning glow. Right in the center lay a small, clean glass prism—left behind, ownerless, forgotten. Mine. I lunged forward and slammed my claw over it before anything else could. Setting the prism directly beside my orange lantern, sunlight struck both at once, throwing sharp orange and yellow sparks across the painted wood. Now the light belongs to my perimeter.