Hunching Homeward

Stories seem to simply appear from the human atmosphere. At least that has been my special circumstance in life. With beginning of consciousness around four or five years old, I always made up stories (lies in the world of a child) to deal with a confusing and altogether insane reality. Other creatures were excessively huge, their behaviors incredibly nonsensical, and to make everything completely incomprehensible – they assumed my destiny was to be totally under their control. The only possible defense I could manage was to use my slight powers imaginatively to put them, at least metaphorically, in their place – which I did. Fantasizing everyday in every possible way, they were nominally bent to my childish will.