His nose fits well onto his face. It’s bent and hooked, and like his head, it is long and boney. The cheekbones are high, making the sides of his face sunken and dark. Shadows play over his face, contrasting his snow white skin. His face is quite heavily lined, not due to age or stress, but because years of wearing a constant scowl. Pale eyes always narrowed and lips curled downward, he creates for all around him a feeling of being unwelcome, like having a store owner glare at you while you browse a shop.
Head screwed on high shoulders, he is quite tall and strangely proportioned. Long, thin limbs dangle at his sides. When functioning, they look like they are attached to lines of string, being pulled by a puppeteer. Slow, but somewhat twitchy and unnatural.
He carries himself oddly. His head seems to always be tilted, studying whatever is in front of him. Meeting his gaze, the thick, black eyebrow tips will join, knotting the skin in the center. He does smile though, but this gesture is very rare and is in no way pleasant. When he attempts to, all he can manage is a small crocodile smile. Tongue flat and lizard-like gaped between tiny teeth shielded within thin, stretched lips.
Many prefer to receive a scowl.
He appears to always be in a rush. Long legs take large strides, and the speed to which he walks suggests he left the iron on at home. His clothes (which fit him poorly) shuffle noisily as he moves along. Though he seems to only be somewhere in his thirties, he wears old jumpers and pants that belong to a retired 50 year old man who spend his days on the couch, eating toast for all his meals.
It doesn’t matter though. He was practical and didn’t spend money on ‘fashionable’ or new clothes. He hadn’t bought new clothes in years. Whether they were ugly or not, he didn’t care. Besides a few rips, the jumpers he owned weren’t in shreds, so they stayed.
Though his sweaters were in relatively good shape, his shoes were another story. Torn up as though they had been victim far too many times to a dog’s play, the toes of his dress shoes were peeling back. The once shining leather was dull and faded. These shoes were the only pair he owned, and he’s worn them every day for several years. He liked them though, so they stayed as well.
Those shoes now lead him up the steps to his old dusty apartment. He pulls a single key from his trouser pocket and with a turn and click, he’s home. He’d just been to get the mail, bringing home only bills. He had no friends or relatives to mail him anything. No invites, no Christmas or birthday cards. As he sat down with his tea in a ratty old armchair he smiled to himself.
Total solitude, that’s the way he liked it.
Awesome description Virginia. I really think you are describing the guy in your picture. We will be building a character soon and this guy is interesting. Who is he? What does he do? What mess could he get himself into, in a story? Maybe he starts a blog and something happens to him. He sounds lonely.
ReplyDelete