apollo11
He doesn't look at mirrors anymore. The person he sees reflected isn't quite right. It started subtly at first, his nose just a little too short, the corners of his mouth uplifted where they wouldn't be. Now he finds his image swirled, a cacophonous mess of skin and features blended into nothing. He feels the planes of his face constantly, makes sure they are in the right place, fingertips dragging across skin grown sallow from stress.
The snowman was less impressive once he really got a good look at it. Earlier that morning, the rush of the first snow with his kids felt like adrenaline in his body. His youngest, Maria, only 2 enjoyed rounding the snowman with her pudgy baby hands, while his oldest Sarah at 8 was content directing the show.
The sounds of the parade were deafening, the cacophony of people yelling, laughing, instruments blaring, speakers playing 4 different songs- it was a lot. Lucas did his best to work through the noises and the throng of people, as he was losing his target. The bright colors all around did little to hep him keep track of the blue baseball cap bobbing through the crowd, just slick enough to maneuver the ebb and flow of the crowds.