He was at peace with this world. There was little to disturb his meditations: no younger siblings with their incessant chatter, no elders insistant on getting him to relinquish his precious private thoughts, no village creating a white noise of daily tasks.

In this sphere of his imagination there was only a cool colbalt sky and a scattering of vegetation to fuel his deep, calming breaths.

The serenity wouldn’t last long. The sound of his name being butchered by a shrill young voice turned itself into a visual of lightning tearing across his perfect atmosphere; the clomping of clumsy boot-shod feet became thunderous clouds.

He didn’t bother to hide a cry of dismay as his world shattered beneath the weight of seventy pounds of little brother crashing into him. His eyes opened to brutal sunlight and squirming child, and he silently mourned his ruined retreat.