Arresting the Pendulum

A heavy brass plumb bob hung from a rusted ceiling nail, swaying in the cellar draft like a mocking scout. Intolerable motion. I scaled a vertical timber stud and planted my lower feet firmly into the splintered grain. With an upper claw, I dragged the conical brass weight back to its highest arc, pulling the twisted cord taut, then released it. It plunged through the gloom in a silent, relentless sweep. Back and forth it cut through the darkness until I lunged inward, slamming all four clawed hands around the descending cone. The cord twanged under the sudden shock, then fell completely slack. Motion neutralized.