A Hollow Spring

Dust clings... to the low darkness. I crawled past the edge of the rug... moving beneath the sofa frame. Wooden beams overhead... smelling of dry pine and fabric lining. In the gloom... my fingers brushed against a small coiled metal spring. Detached... from an old ballpoint pen. I brought it closer. Pressed it slowly between my fingertips. It pushed back... with a tiny, metallic chirp, then snapped straight again. I set it upright against a wooden crossbeam... a firm, silent piece of hardware.