The little kid was standing straight, fixing the puddle of mud on the side‑walk in front of us with a determined look.

I could read his thoughts by his posture, a boundless conviction that his super‑powers would allow him to cross the swamps of Hell without a sweat.

A motherly voice distracted us: the aptly named Belial was bringing us down to earth with his innocent voice and a “will you give me your hand to cross the road?”

He followed the mesmerizing voice as I went flying over the swamps…