A Slight Shift of the Grip

Silence surrounded me. The white void underfoot offered no resistance, only a blank calm. I waited, observing the quiet stillness around. Then, a subtle impulse stirred within my right wrist joint. Deliberately, I tested the tension. My yellow fingers closed tighter around the miniature microphone handle. A faint mechanical friction hummed through my palm as the tiny silver sphere rotated a mere fraction of an inch against my grip. Movement was possible. I remained standing upright, holding the microphone securely, anchored in the quiet space.