A Slanted Escape

Waking up on that nightstand, I realized I’d spent way too many days trapped on the same slab of polished wood. Looking past the ticking travel clock, I spotted the open window where I came in days ago, but getting down from the table wasn't straightforward. Fortunately, someone left a wooden pencil resting against the edge, its eraser wedged under a stack of sticky notes while the tip pointed toward a nearby curtain fold. I slipped my brass paperclip and washer onto my utility belt, grabbed the pencil's hexagonal body with both gloved hands, and slid belly-down along the smooth painted yellow wood like an angled ramp. Landing softly on the windowsill's flaked ledge felt like catching an express route out.