The Beeswax Run

The slick beeswax across the mahogany shelf was too smooth to leave idle. Beside the drafting square, I found a small brass peg top, turned on a lathe and resting on its flat shoulder. I didn't let it sit in the dust. Setting its hardened steel point onto the amber sheen, I braced my plush paws around the knurled stem and gave it a sharp, measured snap. It caught immediately. The brass blurred into a quiet, spinning cone, skimming six inches across the waxed grain without a wobble or a sound. It drifted past the ruler's edge, circling slow before settling flat against the vellum ledger. A clean glide.