Across the vulnerable and shaky table, deep-set, deceptive, penetrating, chestnut eyes stare into the dark recesses of the room. Furrowed brows wrinkled in thought reflect the devious mind within the confines of his steal trap. Cracked, dry lips rest parched below a hard, hooked nose. Shoulder-length hair, once rich as chocolate, now gray and unkempt, scarcely covers the top of his balding head. Hair and beard flow together. No fire burns on this cold, gloomy night, and only moonlight provides illumination in the naked quarters of the lifeless dwelling. Carelessly coffee-stained, a white collared shirt peeks out from below a worn, plaid, flannel shirt. Gloves with missing fingers and frayed finger holes cover hands calloused from a life of deceit and thievery. Dirt embedded in the overgrown cuticles of his fingers reflects a blatant lack of self-respect. His lanky yet muscular frame sits perched on a three-legged stool. Broad shoulders hunched, one elbow situated on the table, his pointy chin rests in his cupped hand as he meditates his next move.
Pressed but not Crushed
Sweet, innocent eyes stare at the floor as though accepting blame for a crime he did not commit. Dirty-blonde curls tousled in every direction, fall just below his ears, begging for a trim. Such an honest face he wears. Such a longing expression he holds. His sad countenance expresses longing for the love he has never known. Childish, soft skin glows with the light of the rising sun streaming through the cracked window. Tattered, half-buttoned, and stretched around the neckline, his drab, muslin shirt shows signs of wear and abuse. This child works a job far beyond that fit for a lad, as seen by his bandaged hands, bruised cheek, and the trickle of blood on his temple. Bare feet reflect either the poverty or the hatefulness of his master. Shivering, he stands prepared for the approaching, undeserved punishment.