A Reflective Encounter

Sliding free from the dark bag took only quiet patience. I drifted onto the broad expanse of the wooden coffee table, guided by the faint glow of the television across the room. There, resting beside an unopened magazine, lay a polished chrome spoon. I leaned close to its bowl, watching my distorted face warp into a narrow, dramatic curve against the metal. With a calculated tap of my gloved finger, I nudged the handle. It spun a half-circle on the lacquered wood, catching the blue screen light before settling into silence.