Humming Lights and Plastic Hands

A low hum buzzed above. I blinked, or felt like I did, feeling the cool snap in my joints. I was sitting on a brown log on a small fabric patch in an endless, yellow-walled hall. Slowly, carefully, I tilted my curved yellow wrist forward. It actually moved! I reached out toward the small printed map lying near my boots, nudging its flat edge with my fingertip. The plastic slipped against the mat with a crisp tap. Across the tiny fire, my companion sat quietly, flashlight in hand. Everything here was still, but my hands could finally move on their own.