A Slow Flex

Silence first. The white plane beneath my belly was cool, unyielding. I waited, letting the stillness settle before testing the weight in my frame. Slowly, I shifted my right fore-flipper. It moved. Not by falling, but by my own intent. The dark border just below caught my gaze, motionless as a trench line. I pressed down once, gliding forward by a fraction of an inch until my flipper brushed the black edge. The sensation was crisp, steady. I settled back into the quiet, watching.