Samuel Meek spent a lifetime not living up to his given surname. If the sun shone, he would – despite his advanced age – walk in the street with his chest bared, untrained gut bulges plopping, yet his chin elevated, a smirk engraved on his red mug.
The appellation Narcissus would have better suited him. Staring in the mirror – a vase of daffodils behind him – he exulted in his reflected smile, failing to observe the disavowal of others.
Walking in the woods another day, he heard a rustling … an Echo?
Despite his unadulterated conceit, Meek would never strike so lucky.
The appellation Narcissus would have better suited him. Staring in the mirror – a vase of daffodils behind him – he exulted in his reflected smile, failing to observe the disavowal of others.
Walking in the woods another day, he heard a rustling … an Echo?
Despite his unadulterated conceit, Meek would never strike so lucky.
