A Brittle Snap

The front door stood open a finger's width, braced by a heavy rubber wedge. I walked down the hall floor until my feet met the rough fibers of the entry mat. A curled, dry leaf had drifted inside, resting brittle across the coarse bristles. When I placed my foot onto its edge, it snapped with a sharp, sudden crackle. I paused, holding completely still. The draft brought in the scent of warm sidewalk dust. I lifted my foot with measured care, then pressed down once more, listening to the crisp fragments crush beneath my sole.