Mark of Distinction

I stepped across the study desk straight to an open ink station. Resting on a cork pad was a heavy wooden rubber stamp beside a tin of dark crimson ink. Time to mint a new standard. I planted my boots into the mahogany, gripped the turned wood handle with both hands, and hoisted the stamp. Lowered it dead-center into the pad, pressing until the rubber absorbed a full coat. Then I shifted to a blank white index card. Squared my stance. Brought the stamp down with steady, unyielding pressure, driving my weight straight through the handle. Lifted clean away. A sharp red insignia sat centered and permanent on the card. Mark logged.