A Worthy Block

I stepped down from the sofa cushions, aiming straight for what looked like the main deck, but somehow ended up standing on a polished wooden plateau. Right in front of me sat a silver cylinder tall as a mast—a ballpoint pen. I nudged it with my boot. It rolled. Too fast. Instinct kicked in: I drew the dark blade from my side and drove the tip into the grain just ahead of it. The metal barrel clicked sharply against the guard and stopped cold. Not a bad sparring partner for a wooden plain.