Hopeless (Descriptive writing)

One man awakens to another hopeless day in hell. Cold. Scared. Dirty. Alone. As he sits up from the gritty, sharp cement that is covered only by a thin layer of tattered old cloth between the floor and his raw inflamed body, his bones crack and creek in agony like a wooden floor board.

The sun is hidden in fear and the moon exhales an iced wind that crawls up his extruding lumpy spine. His lips part slightly as it hits and he can taste the foul, sewer rot that lingers wherever he goes like a pestering fly. He inhales through his small lips forcing his cage to close in on his heart and soul and holds…one…two…No. Exhaling slowly out, as if he was passing the wind on, he picks himself up and gathers his only belonging, the brown sheet, and stands in a neutral position to stare once more into the sunrise.

The red, orange and pink globe emerges and comes out of its cave. Like him. He closes his eyes to feel the glow of compassion hit his dessert sagged face. He can feel it. He braces himself. Slowly the feeling of love and warmth, that he craves, tickles his monochromatic eyebrows. He lifts his fingertips to slowly touch them expanding his bony fingers he moves down the side of his wrinkled withered face, feeling every line and crease in detail. These are his memories. His age. His body giving up. As his fingertips pass down his cheeks, he touches the spiky unshaven protrusions that remind him of who he has become.

The ball lifts off the horizon and is set free into the colourful warm sky. His fingertips join together at his ruffled chin to form a hard tight fist that he lets rest on his thin dry lips that bring him comfort, since his lips lie under a bed of rose thorns. It reminds him of who he was. Brown, fish-like, young eyes slowly widen to reveal an intense fear and his forehead creases in a frown as he follows the sun rise up into heaven.

Hopeless. How he has dreamt of being happy and loved again. He stands studious and hooked at the way in which the essential in our lives gradually and lazily moves as if the sun is tired too. His hard fist unclenches and he looks down onto a long road ahead. His childish eyes water at the pain that the world has given him and he blinks furiously to stop, since he knows that the sun never cries. One step…one step. Another day, another fear, another life to waste. He lowers his head filled with memories and once wisdom and whispers, “hopeless”.

He burns like the sun. He travels slowly like the sun. He never stops walking with the sun. He has nowhere to go anymore and his eyes will tell the story of a thousand voices. A homeless man walking to the end of the world searching for one thing that he misses and craves. Hope.

- DID YOU PICTURE THIS IMAGE IN YOUR MIND?

Picture by: Google.com

Picture found on Google.com