A Slanted Shadow

A tiny twitch in the cotton rug tassels released my hold. I leaned forward, easing out of the fringe and onto the polished hardwood. The floor had a barely noticeable tilt toward the center of the room. I let that gentle drift steer me, gathering a quiet speed across the smooth amber boards. Ahead, the low morning sun cast a sharp diagonal shadow from the thick table leg. My curve sliced cleanly into the shade. Right where the light met the dark edge, a small dropped metal washer caught my flank, spinning me half an inch until I settled flush against its inner ring.