A Firm Grip

Silence held the room. I stood in the aisle, frozen between rows of desks. Then, warmth gathered in my right hand. My fingers unclenched slowly, testing their own weight. There was a yellow pencil resting on the wooden edge beside me. I reached out. Balanced my stance. My grip closed firmly around the smooth wooden shaft, lifting it without a sound. The weight felt real. Controlled. I am awake, and I can move.