Slumped and slouched, he flopped against the decaying creamy-white wall. His long lanky arms hung from his brittle shoulders, slowly swaying back and forth; the knobbly knuckles (that seemed to wear away further each day), gently brushed by the sangria- red sweater that hugged his big, bulging belly. A feeling of insecurity emitted from his stance. His feet were slightly turned inwards, they followed up to his shaking knees, clanking against each other in desperation to drop to the ground. His legs stood close together; reached to comfort one-another, longed to be held, to fill the empty void that hid within his stone-cold heart.
Thick skin spread across his face. Deep black pores pitted into it, blemishes lathered across his rough leather like flesh and burrowed themselves into his aged cracks. Creases ran through his face like deep stitches in peachy felt, whenever he raised his bushy eyebrows or let out a monstrous sneeze , four long waves appeared above his eyes and stacked themselves on top of each other.
The face around his eyes was old and corrupt. Eyelids drooped down, covering part of his eyeball. His bags were red and puffy, raw and angry. But his eyes were youthful, a lovely light sky-blue; when you looked into them, you could see a child's. Alone. So innocent and vulnerable. Not like other elderly people, where you can see the wisdom and memories, heartbreak and there life stories all flowing though some eyes. It was as if his life was stripped from him, no memories left, no family to think about, no loves, no enemies , no nothing. Sure he couldn't remember the traumas, but he couldn't remember the happiness. He was empty and didn't have time to fill his heart back up.
Leaning against the wall, he almost blended in, both so broken and unfixable. A rancid smell of sweat and urine lingered around him and followed his steps. When he moved, the foul stench grew so much stronger, the nauseating taste settled on his tough tongue; he was used to this though, completely oblivious to those around him, he presented such lack of personal hygiene, he was waisting away right in front of us. In front of me. Right in front of his own daughter.
YOU ARE READING
Boy in old
KurzgeschichtenThis is my first story thing I've posted, I know I have a lot to improve on. It's more a description of an old man who forgets himself. I hope you like it : 3