A Snap in the Park

My fingers actually moved. I was posed stiffly under the green leaves, one hand frozen in mid-air, when a sudden pulse ran straight through my wrists. I curled my right hand, tapping a finger against my mask before aiming down at the tree trunk right beside me. A dry piece of loose bark was sticking out—I flicked it with my knuckle and sent it spinning down to the dirt. Smooth, effortless, and sharp. Standing out here feels totally different now that I can call the shots.