The Old Man

The man looked as if he was in his early sixties, he somehow managed to sit on the half-broken bench beside the tree that had been there for countless years. It was the only place the old man used to feel a little safe about. He used to sit there for hours, his eyes were piggy and sunken into the depth of his skin as if he had not eaten for years properly. Time had stabbed his face with its wrath and now his eyes had sunk in as a consequence.