A Firm Grip

Silence. Cold air across the ledge. My hands were clamped tight, as they always had been, but this time tension ran deeper. I unclenched my right fist, testing the resistance. The joints obeyed. Beneath my boots lay a flat wooden board, cluttered with dark discs and fallen figures behind me. I pressed my weight downward into the plank. Solid. A lone plastic casing rested nearby. I nudged it with a boot tip, noting its weight, before planting both feet squarely at the rim to claim this vantage.