Lessons from a little girl

Very recently, I was on a plane, an experience I always enjoy (notwithstanding the process of getting into, and out of, the plane). I always hope for non-intrusive, relaxed passengers to have taken the seats surrounding mine, but this time I found myself sandwiched between the window and a cute little girl of around 5 years.

Unlike a great many number of people, specially around my age, I am always fascinated by, and fond of, children, their behavior a serious food for both mind and soul. Thus, I found myself in a figurative gold mine of observation and reflection.

The first thing that always hits you about kids is the persistent curiosity, because we are all curious about somethings, but when we find an answer we stop right there. We don't think about alternative answers or the question that the very answer produced in the first place. I suppose childhood is the time when you get continuously disappointed by answers that are less than your ambitions of the magic that might be behind the question, eventually just killing curiosity altogether.

Varro vs. Reth

Today, we went to a university for a workshop (it was more of a lecture) about exam stress management. This, however, was preceded by a boring lecture of what to look in a college and bla bla bla... so I ended up half writing a fight scene. Later, I decided to complete it and, well, here it is:
 

He was in his ‘own’ chair, his favorite. His red swollen eyes, untrimmed beard, messy hair and freshly scarred left cheek told a story, as he sipped upon the powerful alcoholic drink. Mead, they called it. Honey wine, the bloody Gods’ drink… every bit as sour and bitter as it is intoxicating. He took huge gulps without care, for he was expecting a visitor.

The barn’s door almost tore open, and as the bright, nearly ghost-like moonlight invaded this secluded place, a burly figure emerged standing before it. Little over 6 feet, his width even more intimidating and a face rendered indescribable with rage, he would have scared an army. “VARRO!” he bellowed with wrath ringing in his voice, an instant before it was broken by his own crazed sprint, blind with loathe.

The Beast King

I stare upon the horizon. I can see nothing but a sea of his enemies. They are huge. No, they are massive. Each one is large enough to blot out the entire observable sky. However, it is at the moment they appear most fierce, most powerful, that the first tinge of his awesome aura floods the heavens.

I can feel it. The beast king is here. Everytime I happen to get this feeling, I know what would lie ahead. An extraordinarily epic struggle of enormous proportion. This time it's different. The enemies seem stronger, darker, more powerful, this time. This time it's different.

He does not even flinch at their sight. Him seeing one of them is the same as him seeing a thousand. To him, number is immaterial, size is immaterial, strength is immaterial. To him, all is immaterial. He will do as he pleases, however he pleases. Nothing will stop him.