A Hollow Click

I leaned low against the carpet, dragging my heavy knuckles slowly into the dark beneath the armchair. Near the wooden foot rested an old wooden domino tile, face tilted upward against a fold of the rug. I stayed completely still... watching its pale painted dots in the gloom. Then, with measured quiet, I raised one elongated, frayed finger. My blunt knuckle nudged the upright edge just a hair. It tipped forward with a dry, muffled clack onto the soft fibers. It did not bounce. I kept my heavy arm rested flat, letting the quiet room wrap around us.