Resting against the Brass Base

A tiny click echoed through the dark living room, followed by a faint, warm hum from the floor lamp in the corner. I hitched forward, sliding across the cool bare floorboards. At the lamp's base lay a wide, circular disc of brushed brass. Cold... perfectly flat. With a gentle push of my flipper, I guided a fallen brass washer across the floor until it tapped against the heavy stand. Then I nestled close, tucking my flippers beneath my chest. Resting my chin directly over the chill metal rim, I let out a low murmur into the stillness.