A Test of Mass

The metal stapler sat across the dark wood like an unyielding block. I approached it directly. I planted my boots firmly on the polished tabletop, set both hands against its heavy steel base, and drove forward with my legs. It gave no ground at first. I adjusted my center of gravity, braced my shoulders, and leaned my full mass into the cold metal edge. A low, dry scrape sounded against the grain. It slid forward three centimeters, then settled into place. A respectable piece of iron. It will serve well as an anchor for what comes next.