The Glass Monolith

The open drawer was only a step toward the summit. I vaulted off its timber rim and drove both boots onto the smooth pine top of the nightstand. Standing right in my path was a cylindrical water glass, dense with cold liquid. Unyielding glass. I did not step around it. I planted my boots wide, thrust my palms flat against its cool, condensation-slicked curve, and drove forward with unstoppable force. The heavy glass shuddered, scraping across the varnished wood before halting with a sharp, resonant clatter. A true test of mass. I hold this summit.