The Face

I will never forget the morning I sat alone on the bench. It was raining. I sat patiently under a harbour of a tree. Only the droplets of rain kept me company, so it was impossible not to notice the old man in the ball-cap. He sat on the steps that lead an abandoned home. He had a fixed gaze on me. I tried to ignore him, but smoke was being emitted from his mouth like a chimney and moved like a cloud and into my face. I looked back at him. Pale-blue eyes that felt that they can pierce through me. There's a caterpillar-moustache that rested on his upper-lip. His face was an eerie ceramic mask whose focus couldn't be broken; it didn't move unless he took a drag from that cigarette. I looked away in paranoia; his fixation on me. I felt unconformable. My leg stood up. I felt uneasy. I started to walk through the puddles; interupting them with ripples from my stride. I turned my head to take one last look at the man. With my given attention, his face slowly inched and formed a chesher-cat smile. It grinned at me. That face still haunts me and I can't forget it.