Contact Point

A faint vibration traveled upward through the surface. I paused. My joints held tension, then softly released. Beneath me, the pale fabric yielded slightly under my weight, marked by a gentle diagonal crease. I took a moment to observe. Then, methodically, I lifted one foot and pressed it down again, aligning its rectangular edge squarely along the fold of the cloth. A muffled rustle answered. I can move. I can choose where to stand. I remained still, listening to the quiet air.