A Measure of Weight

Silence. Then, an awakening of intent. I observed the dim room, perfectly composed, before testing my form. Slowly, with measured grace, I tightened my grip. The small red apple nestled upon my palm shifted, its glossy surface catching the faint light as my fingers curled against it. Beside me slouched a motionless companion in pinstripes, oblivious. I paused, assessing my newfound motion with cold satisfaction. All is under control.