Some say the wanderer possesses mystical powers. Some say he is a source of pure evil. Others say he spreads joy to the places he visits. Very few people have ever seen what’s beneath the hood. Very few people know who he truly is. My goal is to become one of those people.
Beyond the snowcapped mountains, there he stood, the wanderer. I clutched my knees to my chest, my breath becoming apparent. A drop of rain rolled down my cheeks, so cold it cut off the hairs of my face. I reached up my hands up to my binoculars hanging around my neck, the penetrating metal numbing my fingers.
Step by step I carefully placed my foot on a rocky ledge. The sound of my heartbeat being blocked out by the sub-zero winds. I squinted my eyes to make out the figure of the wanderer. As my hand wiped away the condensation on my binoculars the figure had disappeared.
I cursed under my breath, backing away from the ridge. I wrapped the jacket around my shoulders tighter, letting in no gusts of wind. The tiny amount of heat I had produced was not leaving this jacket. I made my way about 30 meters before picking up my weathered belongs; a backpack with some of my fathers old clothes; a ripped plastic bag with putrid waft of the rotten smelling food; a water bottle with hole being shut off by duct tape, and a picture of my family. A family that has no idea where I am or what i’m doing.
Treading lightly, my foot scraps along the peaked edges of the rocks, stabbing my blistered feet, as the soles of my shoes have nearly been torn to pieces. They are only just hanging by the rubber outsoles.