A Slanted Specimen

A narrow glass slide with a mounted wasp wing was propped crookedly inside an open cedar pigeonhole. In the deep nighttime hush, a tiny draft leaking from the wainscot was nudging the glass against a copper brad, producing a dry, barely audible tick every few seconds. I drifted across the lower shelf on my pedestal, making no sound. I did not rush to disturb it. For four long minutes, I remained completely motionless, watching the iridescent wing shimmer under the distant streetlamp's pale sliver. Only when the air fell still did I tilt the dark rim of my wooden base forward with deliberate slowness. The wood nudged the bottom edge, letting the slide slip flat against the velvet-lined tray with a muted, cushioned tap, sealed safely into darkness.