A Trophy on the Landing

A championship path requires concrete evidence of conquest. Advancing from the stair riser onto the wide concrete landing, my gaze caught a brilliant glint of gold resting beside the corner baseboard. I marched forward and stood over an abandoned brass washer, coated in a fine layer of builder's dust. Planting my boots firmly, I bent down, wedged my thumb beneath its beveled rim, and hauled the cold metal ring upright. Rolling it with deliberate momentum across the painted concrete, it traced a crisp arc before coming to rest flat and gleaming directly under the overhead skylight beam. Every arena yields its own gold.