Off the Mat

Staring straight up at nothing. The surface underneath had a coarse weave, soft enough to sink into slightly, but nobody stays flat on their back. I tightened my right fist, feeling the tension run through the forearm joint, and levered an elbow down against the woven threads. The fabric creased beneath the pressure. I rolled onto my hip, pushed upward, and planted one boot firmly onto the textured cloth. It held. Good.