Cuentos para Kati XIV

You look at me and wonder, how can I be as I am?, how can I look, the way I look?, why do I look like that? You are certain you should be afraid, you should stay awake, you should stay afar. 

You look at me and wonder if you would survive, if you were to be my friend, if you were to be by my side. You heard I am fast as you are, if you are by my side ,you should slowly move afar, followed by my gentle hiss or  maybe poke at my eyes hoping my jaw wouldn't close at 13 tonnes per square inch. 

The little boy's parents had experience, they heard stories, survivors claiming to know, to understand and all in unison screaming, you better run, but the boy was careless, innocent and rebellious. As the light melted with the passing hours, he decided to escape from his mother's constant watch and his father's advice. What would you say should it happen? Would I lie silently underwater? Observing, peacefully moving, with undisturbed attention and discipline? 

The little boy did not hear the stories, other than from his parents mouths, do you really need to put your finger in the fire? Shouldn't you respect history, other than your own story? Are men doomed, when the past is not acknowledged?  

He did not fear the tough skin, nor the speed or the portrayed cruelty, he did hear the technique but his little fingers could not possibly stop me if I were to decide to strike, if I were to be hungry, if I were not, by my son's side. Should a monster always be a monster? Should violence always win? Well, it certainly does, many times, but not as many times, as it does not. Noise is its only trick, when attachment has decided to let go.

As I heard his mother's screams and the angry look, in his father eyes, gazing upon me, I wonder the reason of their rush, the reason of their agitation. I am not very familiar with fear but what you perceive as violence might be only necessity. But even in necessity, there is always something greater, you know what it is, the same feeling that makes you run, not the times you do it for yourself, but those rare ones you forget you can recognize yourself.  

Are you not scared? His father asked him. Why would you escape from us? Did his mother. The little boy smiled at them and said, history does repeat itself, over and over, but some times, it simply can't, some times love wins. 

As I play with my son, spoiling him in the same way you do, fearing for him more that I would ever do for myself, I realized of something, something you tend to forget, nobody is the same all the time and even monsters melt to the touch of love.