A Quiet Recalibration

A subtle pulse stirred within my joints, snapping each internal hinge into delicate alignment. I was resting horizontally upon the smooth white fabric, motionless. With measured composure, I rotated my wrist, feeling the tiny microphone steady in my grasp. Across the pale cloth sat an intricate, metallic endoskeleton figure poised against dark fabric. Deliberately, I tilted my chin upward and extended one small hand toward the soft fold of the sheet, verifying the steady, autonomous control over my own motor gears.