Character Sketches
They pointed to his clothes, his build, his hair, his skin, trying to claw at something with which to explain the difference. All were lies. The truth was that in every physically discernible way, there was nothing to distinguish between him and the others.
But there was undoubtedly something distinctive, and if you met him, you would see it immediately. It was in the way he walked: brimming with confidence — not the kind that motivates a man to pursue every other woman he sees, but the kind that powers from within; the ability to stand alone. It was in his handshake: firm, as a capable gentleman’s should be, yet soft with the promise of friendship.
Perhaps most of all, it was in the eyes: guarded and complex, belonging to someone who had been destroyed and rebuilt many times over; at the same time, laced with a thin but clear ring of honesty. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and when you look into most people’s lenses, past the white glass and the pretty colors, there is only a dark, lifeless abyss. But in the depths of these particular eyes, there was real empathy, seeing you the way you would want to be seen, judging you on the intentions you began this journey with so long ago. I believe you. And in turn, you wanted to believe him too.
A Non-Composite Character
She was beautiful in every sense of the word, and the way she dressed was simple and clean, yet remarkably elegant. Though she was too shy to flirt, we all knew there was no such need; a radiant beacon in an otherwise dull world, her modesty, strangely, only caused her to stand out more.
We are often told not to underestimate the power of a smile; hers was warm and inviting, and gave you every reason to believe its authenticity. But it was also timid — restrained before reaching a full expression of happiness, casting the slightest shadow of uncertainty.
Above all, it was the eyes that said so much, and revealed so little. They were clear and soft, colorful and sweet. She blinked, and in a momentary flash, there was a flame of vitality behind that color, a promise of sincerity; yet when that instant passed, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all imagined — that perhaps there was nothing there after all.
You realize that through all this, you have learned nothing about her; the questions still remain. How do I know I can trust you?
Neither of you spoke a word, of course, but her playful glance seemed to betray a response: You don’t.
