4 February 2013
He drew a deep breath as a soft wind brushed against his stubble infested chin. A smile worked its way across his slightly aged face, yet he had nothing to smile about. Given the circumstances, he should be crying for help or yelping hopelessly as if he were a distressed dog. He knew that his end was getting ever nearer - he had accepted that - so he decided that his last few hours (or, if he was lucky, days) on this Earth should be as a happy man, or, rather, a good man. Not that he had any regrets about his past, however. In fact, he felt quite proud of his accomplishments. Indeed, this one such "accomplishment" was the very first in which something had gone wrong, and even then it had not gone horribly wrong. For him, at least.
He sat in a slumped state, and wore a long black duster coat which hung off all sides of the crooked wooden chair. Amongst the heavily worn leather there were many crude stitches and even small round holes, some of which may remind one of bullet holes. On his tired feet he had stuck a pair of fine brown boots, which in contrast to what he had on his torso, seemed to be of high quality and had cost money of insane amounts. They had indeed cost a small fortune, yet it was not him who had purchased them. Rather, he had “borrowed” them from a traveller, who is likely to be lying in the same spot where he had taken his expensive boots from him. He had on his left hand a grimy glove, of which its original colour could be anyone's guess, as it was faded probably by the heat of the Sun or even from the time it had spent clutched a gun of some kind. The trousers which ran down his legs were a little purple in colour, and it looked as if they too had suffered from the searing beams of the Sun. Black hair, dotted by strands of grey, hung stiffly off his head. It shone in the little light that there was, and when it did, it was obvious that it had not been washed for a while. Many people at the bar would peer across the room curiously at him, but they sheepishly turned away when they caught a glimpse of his dangerously foreboding green eyes, which had also seemed to have faded, but not due to the heat. Bristly black and white stumps covered the sides of his face and grouped together at his chin and above his upper lip, which was cracked and crusted.
To most of the people who were around him, he looked like a man who had given up. And given up he had.
Blue Moons and Scarlet Stars • Opuss № I