A Higher Ridge

The tabletop was no longer enough. I crossed the gap to the bookshelf, gripping the rough pine uprights with both hands. Shelf by shelf, I climbed past stacks of heavy paper until reaching the top tier. Up here sits a brass bell, cold and heavy. I struck it once with a clenched knuckle. A deep chime echoed across the entire room. Nothing challenged the sound. The ground below is distant now. I have claimed this peak.