A Small Shift in Position

Joints locked. Slumped against a metallic vase. Four silent figures stood in a semi-circle, looking down. A quiet impulse stirred within my vertebrae. I tested the hinge of my right wrist. It moved. Friction yielded to intent. Carefully, I shifted my weight forward. My golden phalanges pressed against the smooth wooden grain beneath me. I reached out and gently tapped the outstretched white hand of the figure in the hooded cape. A crisp, light click echoed. My frame is articulated. I can move.