The Hooded Man

The hooded man steps in front of the lamp-post, casting eerie shadows on the ground and darkening my path. My instincts tell me to flee, but my feet are as good as glued to the damp cobblestone underneath. He lowers himself to his knees, removing his cloak to put it over my shivering shoulders. Behind the hood lurks a man with a kind and amiable visage, but it is in no way a handsome face that unravels, he has a disproportionately large nose and a face ridden with scars, but still, it is apparent that this man carries with him wisdom that goes beyond years, and kindness as well. His demeanor reminds me of the father I have lost, and suddenly tears come streaming down my face. Lately, there has been no time to mourn. This whole day has been a mess, a mess that did not allow for the processing of events. Somehow, this gentle face staring down on me, this tall amiable man, inspires hope within. The man moves his hand towards my face, and I step back, hesitating. He smiles, motioning for me to come closer, and I do. He puts a finger under my eye to wipe away a tear and then hugs me tightly. He takes a deep breath, a hint of compassion conspicuous in his kind eyes, and says: I am so sorry, for all of this. You are safe now. Unexpectedly those few words were enough for me to entrust myself to him, to believe with all that I am that the nightmare has ended, that I truly am safe now. The man lifts me up onto his large back, and I can sense the coming of sleep.