Mufasa

The blistering heat of the Nigerian summer scolded the eyes of Mufasa. The effects of dehydration protruded her face; her skin as dry as sand granules after a prolonged desert drought. Her impoverished body was a mere skeletal outline compared to the average person. On her head she wore a rag, which would simply keep her preserved from the sun. Her small, red, beady eyes were exquisite; however it was hard to be oblivious from her sorrows. The hands of the Nigerian elder looked as if a single drop of water had never come in contact with the unmaintained surface of her palms. In her mouth lie a cigarette. Draped around her body, was a lengthy, ragged up dress, which covered her like dust on the mantle of a dormant antique fireplace. Blisters looked as if strategically scattered all over her shins, as one was present almost every square inch. She wore no shoes. The calluses on the underside of her feet were rough rocky edges at the basin of a mountain.