Equilibrium didn’t, so he sank to sitting with arms akimbo.
His mind’s eye witnessed the interior wind as a hue of insulting pink.
Mentally circling the area didn’t earn the satisfaction of curiosity.
Close in, his name was whispered with British ascent, via the clip of the tongue that makes Eric sound somewhere near attic. From the far side his mother called out her Indian name for him. Too-stubborn-to-put-on-a-coat.
This nickname hit something unyielding and ricocheted back out. Mind clenched as his fists hardened. His mouth opened in silent combativeness, then thought twice, capturing the first syllable.
Looming encapsulated, he shuttered and accepted entrapment and exposure. Steps away from void, stepped in from another form of void. Hermetically sealed in a Fabergé egg. Cracked with windows called eyes. He sensed aura of life dodging about him and talking in vibration. Darting and fetching, stalling and proceeding.
Thoughts tumbled in rapid fire, one after another, but he refused to ignite each one. Every one smothered in turn before it had been identified.
Looking deeper inside revealed an empty room filled with intangibles able to squirm through to the other side out.
Tight shut eyes relaxed to envision sparks flying. A queue of bubbles rose from his mouth heading to the surface. A last bit of breath released above the surface of the mere.