The Cyan Ghost

A stray, puffed white popcorn kernel was idling right on the slick terrazzo, barely an inch outside my velvet perimeter. I hovered over it in dead silence, watching how the shifted afternoon sun caught the upright 3D glasses propped against the stanchion. That cyan cellophane lens was casting a sharp, icy pool of blue light across the tiles. Waiting... waiting. Then, with a sudden, theatrical flick of my stiff twill brim, I swept the little puff across the stone. It skated forward and settled dead-center in the colored beam, instantly soaking in the blue hue like a frosty, glowing stage prop beside the golden brass dome.