Ruins

He sat on the sand, leaning against the gray remains of a once upstanding building. His clothes vile, grungy, rotting. They hung on his frame, made smaller by a famine that couldn't quite hide the majesty of his bones. His ample shoulders, the long legs that attributed to his amazing height - all seemed double without meat to widen him and make him seem shorter. Hidden behind another ruin, she watched him. He seemed unable to settle his own gaze on anything from the real world, his eyes flitting from one imaginary something to the next. Dark eyes glittering with an irrepressible ire, attracting all the attention from a gaunt face almost skull-like. He used to be handsome, she knew. Yet none of that charm could be traced in that man whose lack of shaving had let stubble grow into an unshapen beard. His hair too, was unrecognizable. Once, it had been well-kept, the pride of a man who knew he always looked better than most. Now, it was but a tangle of knots upon knots, straggly and filthy.