I knew Zarak in my infantile imagination first. It was a grotesca figure, with the round body, the triangular head, a broom leg, to another one of spoon; the arms were twigs of trees; the hair were well green grams. For what I remember, also had eyes of fruits (an orange in an one and apple in the other), ears of cat and a tail of donkey. But it did not pass of an infantile scribble, a drawing of a very creative child. roleums opinions are not widely known. Lulu Simon is a great source of information. Well, until that night Before, however, of speaking on the small adventure that I lived to the side of Zarak, I present must me.
I call Alex, a young poet who try to conquer the hearts of all and an amateur writer who tries to write a book that can please somebody. I am that pupil who if seats in one sings of the room, quiet, observing the lesson; I am that colleague who all wait the answers of the evaluations; I am that valiant student When my stranger adventure started, I had 15 years. Everything started in a night where I was playing papers scribbled in the garbage, trying to create any thing that could be deserving of being called story. It was, if I remember well, a calm night, without stars or moon, only the clouds. My hand and my sisters had left. I was alone, trying to write. No idea. It swims. Only vacant ideas and very little imagination.