The Man in the Wooden Hat - Judy Albietz

He always wore that hat. It hid the fact that he had no soul. He pulled it down to cover his eyes, which were dull and flat. Once they were clear blue with a child’s passion. But now they were extinguished lights, the ashes of that long-ago burning. Always with the hat, he continued to get closer to Lindsey, all the time figuring out how to get into her house. He didn’t want to hurt her. She just needed to get out of the way so he could get his things out of the house. It wouldn’t be long before she found them. He had to get to them first. The blood on the shirt and pants would be brown now, like the leaves now lying dormant on the ground. He almost got into the house after the storm. Damn dog got in his way.

He hadn’t meant to kill the woman in that house last year. He actually had decided to walk away after that night. But then when he touched her, she started that yelling. She had no right. She didn’t understand his need and what happens to it when it is refused. It just turns to plain hate, and it was her fault.

He became a judge to bring justice to the uncivilized world. Every day he saw versions of himself, people with excuses for what they did. He had to control them. He had to keep them locked away. The predators of children were the worst. He knew what made them tick and had to stop them.

He hadn’t meant to kill that child last week. She was so sweet then she turned vicious. He only wanted to hold her. She didn’t know when to stop talking. He would have lost everything he had worked for, all the justice he still planned to dish out from the bench, from the wooden boat he steered with his wooden heart with his wooden hat perched on his head to protect him from the cold and the heat. The only thing he feared was fire which might burn up