A Little Weight Forward

My joints clicked. I blinked against the dim light, shifted my boots, and realized my legs weren't locked in place anymore. I tilted my head down, staring at my missing right forearm. No bleeding, just plastic where flesh should be. With my left hand, I carefully tapped the white ledge behind me. The dull rap proved I was solid, grounded, and awake. Maybe this is a clean slate—or maybe just round two.