First Firm Press

Silence came first. I lay flat against the polished grain, staring at the ceiling until warmth reached the seams of my chest. Carefully, without haste, I pressed my right fist down against the timber. It held. The smooth surface did not yield. I slowly raised my torso, resting my weight on one solid arm. Ahead stood a translucent water bottle, catching the morning light. I extended a hand and touched the cool, slick plastic, feeling its firm shape before settling back into a steady upright watch.