A Slanted Bridge

I pushed out from under the radiator and wriggled toward a thick hardcover book that had slipped off a low shelf. Its stiff cover rested slanted against a woven footstool, forming an incline. Pausing to gauge the smooth surface, I pressed my front segments against the edge. It was slick and slightly cool. With slow, patient nudges, I dragged my body up the slope. Near the middle, my weight made the heavy cardboard creak and settle an inch deeper into the carpet. Instead of sliding back, I let my belly mold along the binding crease and rested, balanced high in the quiet room.