Descriptive Essay: A 51 Sorrow

#51 Sorrow

He doesn’t talk too much as he used to before; he doesn’t care anymore about his hair, falling onto the face, − it protects him, more or less, when he no longer can pull a lenient smile onto his lips. Though, he was kinda alright at the court, without even knowing that he would be acquitted; he even made a thanksgiving speech at the following party in the small pub, where they decided to celebrate the happy outcome. There were some guys form the police department as well; he still owes them money for the game of mus.

Leon comes closer and squeezes Luis’ shoulders, forcing them to square, and then, barely touching, he puts a wavy lock behind Luis’ ear.

“How… maldita sea… There’s so much blood on my hands, but here I am, sitting like nothing’s ever happened. They had their families, their habits, their faith…”

Leon’s thumbs stroke his neck, they go up and

The knuckles are grazed, but already healing: thanks to the intense trainings, the self-defense. The little finger’s phalanx on the left hand is missing: carelessness is always followed by punishment. The light-colored strokes are spreading over the shoulder and the forearm, and a couple of the crooked ones are hiding behind the ear: the glass had gashed out, he wasn’t too quick to take cover, but he remembered the most important thing − to shield the eyes. The knotty scar on the thigh next to the artery: every minute was counting, he had to mend himself right on the battlefield. The burn down the shin he got the same day, disinfecting the wound, left by the rusted splinter, with fire; if it went a little bit deeper, he wouldn’t be able to stand up again. The furrow on the cheek: Leon had shouted, but hadn’t been heard under the thundering bursts, so he had to shoot, risking. Leon’s such a good shot, the proof is here as well, among the other scars; the radial star on the