In a world of artificial beauty, sleek chrome, and asphyxiating perfumes, no one would have considered him much to look at.
Yet I myself, I found him beautiful.
His features were sagging slightly, though not from age. His expression was that of aimless, dulled woe, and though I heard no sound, I could feel the silent shuddering of his cloaked shoulders.
His face, while contorted with both pain and weathering, shone with a pure light. It darkened my sight somehow, made me blind to all but his hollow eyes. They called to me. They invaded me. And yet, everything was right.
He was tall as the light post, the glow that illuminated the cement below it unable to hold a candle to this stranger. No, taller. Was he? Somehow, my tired mind was attempting to balance the two. The artificial fluorescence that I was so used to competed with the white, innocent glow that emanated from his skin.
He was old. He was dusty. He was unmarred.
I met the man in the moon tonight.
Devon Doomsday Community Member 
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Community Member
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