Open Canines

A short description that was done for an imaginative writing class I took last semester, written about an old photo of my father.

He is a man of average height. His forehead crinkles in the sun, a foreshadowing of lines revealing indentations that will carve themselves there in the future. Chocolate brown eyes shine in the light and his emotion is clear. Black curls form a crown atop his head, and you would never know. That smile paints the picture of a laugh like crystal, and you would never ask. He’s got a good head on his shoulder and the world can see it. His arms are muscular, the skin taut, and you would correctly guess that yes—he’s an athlete. Soccer or football by the look of his legs; they are also muscular. His chest looks strong as well, and within beats the heart of a champion. Pride pumps through his veins and fuels his smile. His caramel skin hides is origin and it would never be known at first glance that he was not born in this Melting Pot country. What gives it away is the necklace resting on that boastful chest, the charm at the end hanging with a wonderful shape of curves and pivots: his country—Africa.

His smile is what takes the cake. Full lips curving upward, his cheeks puffing out reddened and like apples. The happiness is contagious to anyone who looks at it, and there is something about the smile that makes you want to laugh with it, to know what is so funny that such a wonderful expression could be born. It’s an open laugh, an honest laugh—and his canines can be seen. Canines? The sharpest teeth in his mouth, evenly aligned on both sides, come down to almost a perfect point. They’re the most interesting thing about the smile, the thing about him that people remember most. Glossy, like they’ve just been cleaned, but it’s the point that makes them memorable. They can’t be heard, but there are a plethora of jokes behind those two teeth. Jabs, Punches, Low Blows, Love Taps; it’s a good thing he’s got the muscle to take it.

The End

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