A new breeze
By: deathineverything065

An old man sat upon a wooden bench, the crisp air of a spring morning pulling at his worn leather jacket. The old man sapphire blue eyes that were heavily surrounded by wrinkles narrowed at an oblivious child. The mere energy that the child was displaying turned the old man stomach, as brightly clothed as the child was he seemed to have lost what ever supervision that had detained his endless wandering. It was an annoyance that was scaring the pigeons away, thus not to be tolerated.

The old mans face transformed into a much used scowl, the face being that of seconded nature to the old man. The wrinkled hand moved with grace of the aged into a pocket of leather flaps, removing a worn paper bag as wrinkled as the old man himself. The look upon the old man’s face did not change as he pulled out several broken up pieces of bread, the birds flocking to him eyeing their expected prise for such bravery.

The child had stopped his racing, and was staring fascinated at the old man with his winged companions at his feet. The child took a cautious step forward. The old mans eyes quickly detected the movement and caught the Childs gaze. The child halted his movements, the old mans steady blue eyes never left the hazelnut brown ones, one pair held wisdom and patience, the other pair held youth and hope. The old mans eyes became slits, his pale pink lips turned further downward at the corners.

The Childs eyes widened, a quivering leg took a step back, than another, and another until the child was hidden behind a tree, the fresh green buds did not hide the maroon sweatshirt that covered a shaking thin chest.

The look of the old man suddenly changed, the scowl replaced with pain, extraordinary pain. The child looked on in fascination as the birds took flight around the old mans bent over frame, clinging to the worn leather around his left arm. The old man tried to rise only to fall to the pavement in pain his mouth opening and closing is silence.

Wind pushed against the Childs sweatshirt carrying the voice of his mother to his ears, it was time to go. With his gaze still on the old man, withering in silence, the child ran to do as he was taught and respond to only his mother’s voice.