For Whom the Bell Tolls {10}

“It tolls for thee,” I thought, as the knock at the door reverberated throughout the room.

An old man slinked in, hunched over and rather wretched-looking. His face was covered in a scruffy grey beard, and he had hoary swatches of hair atop his head. His eyes were grey and almost lifeless and purple bags had formed beneath them. His skin, without blemish or liver-spot, was not that of an old man. He was, in fact, a rather young man wrapped in the package of a elderly vagrant.

When his sorrowful eyes rested upon my face, they immediately filled with something like love and a smile began to form on his pinkening lips. His face became flushed with natural color as he shouted my name and ran to hug me.

Though not entirely unexpected, the prospect of me hugging this strange man, or any man, did not sit well with me. I scowled at him as if to say “back off” and push him away with all my might. Upon noticing my expression of disgust, he recoiled, astounded that his own daughter had rejected him.

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