Serial Storytelling, in Paragraph Proportions - Fragment 12

The expanse above an inky unknowable depth, the way forward narrow. 

Umin spreads his arms wide and warily. Soon finding the rough-smooth, like glass resolved once and hardened again, walls with the flats of his open palms, elbows slightly bent.

Paces, paces... 

Spaces with many corner-cases. 

Oh, here you come, here I am! 

With laces in hair, on hand…

Something spectral sang soft-sweet, from nowhere and everywhere.

Leaving Umin unable to sift sound from thought. Not knowing whether the voice had entered his ear or found shape in the spaces behind his eyes.

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