Post by Joshua on Jun 18, 2014 16:32:02 GMT -5
Kyle was doing it again. Running strands of his long, brown hair through his mouth. His mother always hated it when he did that. Said it was a bad habit. But he couldn't help it. It was comforting. Helped keep his mind off of the terrible times. And the snarky voice in his head.
"Oooh, playing with your girly-locks again, I see."
Kyle ignored it. He just sat there. He hugged his knees to his chest. His worn, aching feet scraped the jagged cobblestone. His clothes were torn and tattered. He didn't mind, though. It felt comforting, somehow, even though it reminded him of those darker times.
The war had taken its toll on him, no doubt about it. Not everyone had voices inside their head. Then again, not everyone had a bad run in with a poltergeist while running behind enemy lines.
Kyle allowed the strand of hair he had been sucking to fall down. It stuck up at an odd angle. There were always a few odd-angled strands of hair. His hair was his pride and joy. For some reason, it always looked beautiful, even without any upkeep. Like his mother's.
He brushed a few stray strands of his hair out of his grimy face with an equally grimy hand. Anyone looking at him might have thought him to be a beggar, except for his eyes. They were sharp, stunning ice-blue. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled, making him look like an old soldier; someone who had seen too much. But one look could pierce through a soul. Many men had shuddered under that piercing, thoughtful gaze.
But no one would be shuddering today. Today, he kept his face hidden.
His stomach rumbled. If only he could find something to eat.
"I told you that child looked tasty."
"Shut up." He muttered aloud. His voice echoed softly throughout the dark alleyway where he sat.
"Oooh, playing with your girly-locks again, I see."
Kyle ignored it. He just sat there. He hugged his knees to his chest. His worn, aching feet scraped the jagged cobblestone. His clothes were torn and tattered. He didn't mind, though. It felt comforting, somehow, even though it reminded him of those darker times.
The war had taken its toll on him, no doubt about it. Not everyone had voices inside their head. Then again, not everyone had a bad run in with a poltergeist while running behind enemy lines.
Kyle allowed the strand of hair he had been sucking to fall down. It stuck up at an odd angle. There were always a few odd-angled strands of hair. His hair was his pride and joy. For some reason, it always looked beautiful, even without any upkeep. Like his mother's.
He brushed a few stray strands of his hair out of his grimy face with an equally grimy hand. Anyone looking at him might have thought him to be a beggar, except for his eyes. They were sharp, stunning ice-blue. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled, making him look like an old soldier; someone who had seen too much. But one look could pierce through a soul. Many men had shuddered under that piercing, thoughtful gaze.
But no one would be shuddering today. Today, he kept his face hidden.
His stomach rumbled. If only he could find something to eat.
"I told you that child looked tasty."
"Shut up." He muttered aloud. His voice echoed softly throughout the dark alleyway where he sat.