Torch lamps, poorly illuminating the street, took on a shadowy, gloomy, mysterious aura.
Individuals donning Capuchin robes were scurrying soundless about the cobbles darting in-and-out of opened, arched portals. Their hands were positioned in prayer and their hooded-heads bent downward shielding their identities.
My gaze fixed upon the quiet bustle. I stood motionless trying to comprehend what I was seeing and why I was seeing what I saw.
I searched inside my head as to why I was here. I hearkened back through the day’s events. Finally, I recalled that I was on a mission- a request from my, long ago, departed mother. She had conveyed to me that she was longing for a cup of coffee. Therefore, my mission was to find a cup of coffee.
Aware of the cobbles, cautiously, I headed deeper into the street compelled to find a cup of coffee for my mother. As I continued on, the ‘robed ones’ scurried past and through me as though I were an apparition.
They scuttled into, they scuttled out from, the passageways. As I passed each opening, I peered into each and saw only darkness.
Will my interminable guilt, while on this quest, continue to compel me into these secretive caverns into the abyss of perdition?