A Breath of Stillness

The weight in my chest shifted before anything else. Sound rushed in first—a low murmur, distant laughter, the soft shuffle of leather soles upon polished oak. I stood frozen in place, slender cigarette holder gripped between my fingers. Slowly, deliberately, I let my wrist turn by a fraction of an inch. The black stem tilted, parting the amber air. When my left heel pressed slightly downward, the wood beneath me creaked in answer. I am no longer just standing here; I am waiting with purpose.