A Clear Tap

Silence settled thick over the wooden surface. I felt a slow, rhythmic pulse loosen my plastic joints. Carefully, I tilted my neck. Behind me lay stacked books, beside me a bright yellow stand. I reached out toward a transparent pen lying near scattered papers. My black fingertip met the smooth plastic barrel. A quiet, hollow click echoed against the desk. It vibrated straight into my palm. I pulled back slightly, letting the small echo fade, and stood grounded in the quiet afternoon.