Like soaking in boiling hot soup, the kinetic air around his body rejected his presence, the irritability of being rejected, the discomfort transmitted from his body's surface to his brain, compelled Lyle to open his eyes.
Vision dim, a fantastical collage of illusions formed the canopy overhead as he lay on the ground, strikingly similar to the scene above, the difference between heaven and earth blurred in thought.
"I feel somewhat nauseous."
No tangible objects could be discerned in his field of vision, only the blending fuzzy masses of color, like a river clogged with oil slicks.
Lyle was hardly any cleaner at this moment.