Dummy

There's a dummy in the corner of the room. His skin looks withered and has turned orange with age. As if a scrap of leather had rotted or spoilt in the sun. This image wasn't too far from the smell that came with it.
Someone had come along with a needle and thread. Thick black thread. Like the leg of a particularly large spider. They had pierced little holes along the rim of his eyelids and sewn his eyes shut. This withered scrap of man in the corner was wearing a very expensive looking suit. Black cut. Silk Armour for the war of business. And a very
very
dashing tie.
Not only were his eye's locked shut by the thread, but his mouth was too. Little holes pierced along the rim of his lips. So close to the edge that if pulled too much i'd expect them to rip. Then if they all ripped he would have lots of little gnaw-marks along his mouth. Like a thousand locusts had feasted on the hole in his face.
So with no eyes and no mouth and skin like a dried orange, this smart business man sat almost lifeless in the corner of the room with his closed briefcase and shiny watch. I say lifeless...
The twitch from his arm was a sudden shock as i thought he would have passed out an age ago from the pain, and from the smell i assumed the same. He can't see and even if he tried to open his eyes he would have ripped holes in his eyelids that would have made the strongest of men weep acid tears that would burn into the their heads like lye on a wet hand.
And even with his eyes and mouth sewn shut... he's still looking directly into me.