Building Seven B

Have you ever watched the world from behind locked doors? Spent the days and nights lost in a drug filled haze? In a murky quiet found absolution from the confession of the soul?

I have…

He was a tall man.  From the discolored yellow socks to the last wisp of grayed hair he would have stood an impressive seventy five inches if not for a stoop.  Years of emotional withdrawal from the world around him had manifested into a passive slumping of the neck and shoulders.  The effect gave the watcher the impression of a passive mouse.  Nonthreatening in appearance the observer could easily dismiss what they saw as a harmless old man.  Someone easily taken as feeble in mind and spirit.
They’d be greatly mistaken.
Only after making contact with his darting green eyes would you truly see the man before you.  A spark of other worldly power flowed in them.  Dark emerald mixed deeply with a hazelnut burst from some alien nebula.  Somehow they expressed both an anger and peace at the same moment.
With a furrowed  unkept tangle  of eyebrow overshadowing the slumping gaze it was not often an individual could intercept his gaze.
No, the only thing most people would see of the face was an insane grin.  A grin that was stretched taught across yellowed teeth, and highlighted by dry cracked lips and the drip of a thick viscous drool.
Even the aperture of the mouth was overhung like the eyes by a disgusting growth of long unruly hair.  These though grew out vulgarly from the nostrils, and to the disgust of any curious spectator often dripped with a condensed collection of snot or mucus.

His name was Vincent, and he was insane.