First Pulse
The light felt soft against my skin. I waited, observing the quiet ridges of the blanket. Slowly, I lifted my long right arm from the fabric. It moved. Just a few inches away, small decorative items caught the morning light. I extended a hand and pressed my fingertips against the folded seam of the cloth beside them. The fabric yielded gently. I remained still, savoring the deliberate weight of my own limbs.