1. Like the rest of his body, his face was small. Not smushed in any way, just petite. His features were slightly sharp, like a dulled knife, and, like his thin arms and legs, his tiny little ears shook unexplainably whenever he moved. His face was, in general, awkward, as he had a small little chin, a thin mouth, and a tiny, ruddy nose. He wore faded clothes, not because he couldn’t afford new ones, but because he simply didn’t care to, and his short-cut hair was like hay, both in appearance and texture. Altogether, he was not a handsome man. His eyes, though, were gems. Their large, round shape was out of place, and far too big, but their light brown hue, like honey, or amber, were the most majestic they could be.

2. Her high heels clicked as she strode down the sidewalk, a briefcase clutched in one hand. Her shoes weren’t terribly fancy; they were really only half-an-inch high, but they gave her the little height she needed to be as tall as her male co-workers. Her briefcase was a dull brown leather, something she had inherited from her father upon his early passing, and it had stickers all over it, from places all across the world. In her other hand, she held a coffee. She always stopped for coffee on the way to work, and now, in the frigid November air, she wanted to get inside so she could drink it while it was still hot. Upon the fingers which clutched both the coffee and the briefcase, were fingernails that looked as though they could have used some cleaning up. It wasn’t that they were grubby, necessarily, but the nail polish which she’d applied a week ago, an ocean-like aqua-blue, was chipping, leaving her hands to look rough. The color of her nails didn’t really fit with her outfit today, which was a lavender-colored skirt that reached her shins, accompanied by a grey sweater. She didn’t care about this mis-match, though, before she loved the aqua-blue on her nails. They reminded her of the seaside, though she couldn’t usually stay at a beach for very long without her pale skin becoming burnt, or the skin on her stubby nose peeling, or her numerous freckles multiplying. A wind breathed down the street, faint, but just strong enough to allow her large ears to grow chilly, and to blow around her face the stray auburn hairs which had snuck out of her bun. She soon reached the office building where she worked as a journalist for a major newspaper. Her office was situated on the fourth floor out of nine, and she liked that. There were floor-to-ceiling windows in the building, from which she felt she could see the entire city. Standing in front of the building, she put her briefcase down so she could open the door to go inside. As she pulled on the handle, she caught a glimpse of her reflection, saw her own wide, dark brown eyes like rich chocolate. She stared at herself for a moment, propped the door open with her foot, grabbed her briefcase, and went inside to start the day.