He sits at the sheltered point where the waves lap hungrily against the weathered rocks and plots his evil with his dark graphite. With age his plots grow thicker and his lines darker, their pixilated splendor connecting to form an intricate design. As you approach him, he shields his plans and looks over at you, darkness emitting from the brown of his iris. You catch a glance of his design and draw back in awe and shock muttering to yourself “Beware thine eyes of thy twenty year old... for they hold a grand idea."
It was my brother's birthday this past weekend and this is an excerpt from a card that I made him.
