Novel & Cerita All Around Me Are Worn Out Faces

"He can only lock you up for days without food or water, if you are strong enough to make it out in one piece then.. Her sentence suddenly hooked up in her throat as they all felt a cold aura wash over them. They needed no one to tell them that he has walked in. None of them dared to look up as the sound of his shoes filled the whole room. "On your feet," came his cold voice. They all rushed up to their feet in a flash, Kim seized the opportunity to take a closer look at his face. He was still the same guy that she danced for at Mrs Peterson's strip club, pretty face that could beat that of a lady's hands down, his mouth watering height and broad muscles and all, it was still him standing ri

Casper and his family stand stoic, their heads tipped slightly as if to punctuate the fact that they wanted to be here all along, and it didn’t take the death of a young man to persuade them to stand with their friends. Once we are tucked out of the way a bit, I take a look around. I’ve lived here my entire life and don’t recognize a single face, other than those I’ve already named. Most of these people look like they just swam across the ocean and walked from Savannah or some other port city. They’re dirty. Thin. Their clothes are worn and wrinkled. A few of them cough into their sleeves or sneeze. Ma wraps her arms around Alice and Robert and pulls them closer as if that will keep them fro

His once vibrant eyes, now dulled by the passage of time and the weight of suffering, met mine. His face, once full of life and wisdom, now looked like a canvas painted with the harsh strokes of mortality. His skin, wrinkled and weathered, spoke of battles fought both within and without. It was as if some unseen force had cast a spell, aging him beyond his years. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, aware of the fragility of the moment.

My hair was a mess, falling in tangles around my face, and my eyes, usually sharp and mocking, looked dull. I splashed cold water on my cheeks, biting back a gasp at the icy sting. “Get it together,” I muttered to myself, scrubbing my face dry with a towel that smelled faintly of mildew. “You knew what this was.” I brushed my teeth with more force than necessary, and by the time I was dressed in my cleaner’s uniform, I’d given myself a pep talk worthy of an Oscar. Not that it helped. Outside, the streets were alive with the usual orchestra of honking horns, shouting vendors, and the low, ever-present hum of city life. Men loitered on the corner near my building, their voices slick with sugge

The scene is surreal, almost as if I am trapped in a nightmare from which I cannot wake. Outside, the people gathered on the sidewalks seem to form a sea of indistinct faces, a mass of judging eyes that pierce my soul. Each one carries a different expression—some filled with pure morbid curiosity, while others display a silent, implacable judgment. My eyes, now blurred by the tears I stubbornly hold back, can barely focus on these unknown faces.

We followed behind his car, dragged through the streets of our own land like prisoners. --- Back at the pack’s territory, the changes hit me like a punch to the gut. My people looked thinner, their faces hollow, malnourished. But worse than that was the emptiness in their eyes—the sadness, the fear. It broke me. It enraged me. They all recognized me. Their eyes flickered with hope as they caught sight of me. Others stared with disdain and disappointment in their faces. And some…some couldn’t even muster the energy to care anymore.

I washed my face and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I was a mess. My face was wet, the water failing to hide the dark spot curling the bottom of my eyes. You can thank the nights spent crying in my room all alone for that. Even my lips were starting to get peeled. I had been through all types of stress and it was taking a toll on me. Strands of my hair were everywhere but tucked in. even a strap of my spaghetti strap night dress had fallen off my shoulder. If I told anyone I had been run over by a truck, I would have been believed without a doubt. I had changed, a bad change.

Allegra ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ He placed a hand on the small of my back as we walked inside and the moment we entered, his laidback expression turned into a hard, vicious one. The way he glared at every other Outfit member made me uneasy, I don't know if this “peace” will last. I looked up at his face and he glanced at me, "What's wrong?" I asked. "I fucking hate their faces," he answered lowly.

My throat is completely dry, and every breath scrapes like sandpaper. I get on the bus looking like a wreck. Disheveled clothes, small cuts on my face, bruises starting to bloom. And of course, people stare. Almost everyone on the bus turns to look at me with a mix of pity and suspicion. Their eyes move from my swollen cheek to my messy hair, lingering too long like I’m some spectacle they don’t know what to do with.

You’d have to be a fool to drive the winding, narrow road along the cliffs tonight. My gaze shifts from the thick, densely packed white flakes falling beyond the single-paned window to my own face reflected in the glass. I look like hell. I haven’t slept apart from an hour snatched here or there when I can’t keep my eyes open. My usual five o’clock shadow has grown into a beard, and circles ring the skin around my eyes.