A Slight Shift

My paper joints clicked. A subtle tension pulled along my limbs, and I blinked against the plain light above. I was flat against the white tabletop, inches from the precipice. Just ahead lay the pixelated paper revolver, detached and idle. I moved my right arm forward by an inch. The small paper hand nudged the grip. It shifted half a centimeter across the smooth surface. Silence held. I decided to remain still and survey the quiet room.