A Shift on Stone

The stillness broke quietly. A slight give in my right gloved fingers—first the knuckles, then the wrist rolling without resistance. I paused, taking in the absolute quiet of the stone corridor. Behind me, the monstrous lineup remained locked in rigid mid-stride poses. Down near my boots, a small coiled cobra held its strike. I leaned down slowly, testing my balance, and pressed a fingertip against the reptile's plastic hood. It offered only stiff resistance, sliding an inch across the cobblestone. It was frozen; I was not. I straightened back up, settling into the eerie, quiet stage.