The boy stares blankly at the screen. His thoughts, an endless slide of images, takes him to the dreams of mad Kings and their being; to the sun, as it dies slowly in the West and to the Indies where the spices lay tangled in it's jungles, ready to be uncovered.
The horizon was a dangerous mistress as the sailors once foretold. The infinity of that solitary line sends chills to the backbones of seafarers and as the ancients put it, it was the tail ends of the world. The legends died slowly with the tide, when the expeditions of the valiant proved that the world is not a flat surface.
But what propelled these men, mad, mad men?
Was it sheer desire to have the riches the new lands have to offer? Or is it ingrained in the spirits of men to not be limited to the confines of what society and culture tells it?