I woke up in darkness and silence. The candles and fireplace were extinguished, the moonlight seeped through the windows slightly illuminating the room but I still couldn't see a thing. I had my had gripped tight to the halberd and strangely my hands were bare; looking down I saw an open book on the floor, it appeared to be the volume IV of "Scholar Archives", now I saw why I had fell asleep, that book was utterly boring. I couldn't remember what I had done before for the first few minutes. And then it all came: I had sat on my chair and started reading that book, then my eyelids started to fall, I grabbed my halberd like trying to hold on to consciousness but it was useless; the mantle of calmness I so much hate carried me away to my old memories... I was standing on dry land, surrounded by kids, looking around I recognized my homeland landscape; I felt smaller and weaker, my face was smooth and lacked of beard. The kids started mocking me, one stood nearer me and pushed me. Suddenly I remembered the event but couldn't stop myself from doing it. I thoroughly reclaimed, since I knew what was about to happen...
"The kids had an annoying voice, he spoke with an agonizing shriek that would leave deft the strongest. He kept mocking me and I asked him to stop; the other kids laughed at me and claimed for a fight, and indeed I gave them one. He was bigger than me, maybe even older but I didn't care. I lunged at him and brought us both to the ground, he scratched all my chest and sent the first blows to my face. I kept hearing the kids laughing at me. He stood up, grabbed me by the hind head and drag my weary and injured body to the mud, just to stick my head into the ground; in my childhood I was a puny kid indeed, but always stood up and fight. When they were leaving and speaking of their grandiose victory I threw rocks at him, not one but many; a full volley of rocks sent without aiming fell to the ground around them, it was enough to drag his attention back to me. When he walked directly to me I panicked and looked around for something to fight with, there was a big branch near the tree. I ran and he ran behind me, I grabbed the branch and quickly turned around to meet his face... and I hit it. The kid fell down, a curt landing on the grass and he didn't moved. None cheered, none laughed; the other kids dispersed, ran back to their houses. That day I felt real fear since I didn't knew if he woke up later in the dusk. I didn't slept hearing the discussions of my parents, of how a kid didn't returned to his house. My father entered the room, he said I was useless; he yelled at me because 'I can't think correctly' in his words. After he left I just went to sleep without wanting to know more..."
The kid came back crying to his home after a day; he claimed to had fought a group of easterlings, eight or nine at least. Gave them a good beating to all but the last one knocked him. His father congratulated him, filled him with gifts and compliments. Meanwhile I was rotting in my room without any other action than laying on my bed or peeking though the window. That fighting caused my day to be a complete nightmare to me, which I relived today's night.
