Mood Gremlins
Its skin is grey and leathery. Here and there, thick, sharp hairs poke through; they resemble the broken quills of feathers. Its eyelids are so heavy it can barely open them; when it does, it looks hacked off with the world. Its mouth is drawn down around a collection of haphazard, yellowing snaggle-teeth. It swings its legs, desultorily, its bony knees creaking with the movement. Occasionally it sniffs noisily, its tongue sticking out between its teeth, its cold rattling audibly in its head.
Mood gremlins sit on your shoulder. Everyone has one, but you can’t see them, unless you really try. This is what the majority of them would have looked like this morning, when I got on the tube.
From now on, I’m getting the bus.