My childhood was an amazing time. Having had no siblings, I found my life a tad bit more comfortable than those around me who had brothers and sisters. After all, what else can we do but measure our happiness against others'.
Never really felt alone then. My imagination would lead me through the dark valleys of loneliness. Imagination, what a beautiful thing. Did you know that imagination is what sets human beings apart from other sentient beings? If only a dog could imagine what it would be like to kill his stupid mutt of a master, he would've wiped man out long, long ago.
But my imagination did not centre around the morbid. No, I was in a universe of my own, where heroes and superheroes from the Marvel, DC and other trademark universes converged. I even had some help from the more real-life characters of Enid Blyton, Bram Stroker, Charles Dickens, Ronald Dahl and H Rider Haggard. It was an amazing time.
Every night, as my father promptly sent me off on my nightly walk back and forth down the 'estate' (sic!), my mind wandered to faraway lands. Flanked by Wolverine, Rogue, Gandalf the Grey and Professor Van Helsing, I would spend my nights playing out a fantasy of accomplishing feats so much bigger than myself, and especially bigger than my then-puny existence.
That was the last millenium. My existence is still puny.
Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts,
Ashes for trees,
Hot air for a cool, cool breeze?
Did you exchange
A Walk-on part in a war
For a lead role in a cage?
Pink Floyd -- Wish you were here
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