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The gnarled hand spanned the foot-and-a-half distance in milliseconds, like the angry branch of an ancient tree. It gripped my arm with hesitation. I continued to stare at its unmoving form. The skin was dry - almost reptilian - catching the light and throwing it right back. There was decades of dirt embedded in it, so deep it might as well have been written in genetic code. I half expected to see cracked, brittle nails, and was slightly disappointed to see smooth, clean cut little stubs affixed to the end of his fingers. My eyes traced the mountains of knotted bone and the large veins that spread along like rivers. 

I remembered to breathe, closing my eyes shut, and opening them. I felt my eyes track the expanse of his arm back to his face. A face just as weatherworn and ragged, with slight silver gleaming along his jaw where he had missed shaving. It was the eyes that made no sense. Settled below thick black brows, the large blue orbs glowed with sadness and sympathy. His mouth was a straight line, curled imperceptibly upward at one corner. 

(Source: iuiuiulia)