A Silent Shift

Pinned on my side. Rigid. A heavy plastic snout loomed right above my flank, frozen mid-strike. Then... a pulse. My right sickle claw twitched, digging into the soft weave of the sheet beneath me. I didn't lunge. I calculated. With a slow, calculated roll, I slipped free of the beige figure's reach and tapped the fabric twice. Firm ground. Alive.