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She uses her face as a canvas to paint on beauty. Her eyes, deep with expression, holds hesitation within them. Her smirk is cheery red, and appears as if she has a secret within her lips.

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The irate look glazed over the young girls face as she stands there, pondering her next attempt to persuade her mother. Freckles hopping from cheek to cheek, but the majority lay on her nose. She gets this look when her mother doesn’t agree with her, or when her older brother makes fun of her. Brita decides her next words, of begging, or of revenge. She is a determined girl, she won’t stop at “No’’. Her ruby- red lips cringe forming wrinkles leading to her forehead. The fine, scarlet hair brushes her ears as it curls around the side of her face.

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His empty eyes have seen worse things than most people can imagine.  The stories of his past are like scripts for horror and tragedy films.  Running across his face, the scar that he got in battle will forever haunt him when he looks at himself in the mirror.

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His face is starting to show his age. Wrinkles forming across his face show wisdom from the years he lived. He has lived a been living a simple life as a carpenter.

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His face is rusty and rumpled, revealing the years of wear and tear from working long hours at the bakery. A silvery beard is frosted across his face with a bulbous nose in the center and narrow lips speak words of wisdom. His wilting eyes look far-off and burned out.

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Through her eyes beauty is proclaimed, but it can not save her. In this world it beauty only lasts so long. Her face shows her warrior personality peeking through.

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One can see right through her glossy eyes, outlined with a plush abundance of curly eyelashes.  Anyone can find the innocence found in her dimply smile.  This is Nyla Jay.

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Her innocent looking face, with sorrow in her eyes, and heartache on her face. With dark brown hair that has the cutest curls. She has full lips for such a young child, innocent child. The despair and heartbreak she feels is so real. This young child lost her parents in a earthquake...

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The autumn breeze gently rifled through her sunset orange and copper hair. She smiled with her mouth slightly ajar from laughing, as she cherished the gorgeous leaves that gracefully landed on the ground. She wore her favorite polychromatic sweater that matched a pair of boots that created a common crunch of clutter under her feet with each step she took.

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Her gentle porcelain face was dusted with freckles. Beautifully intent blue-gray eyes fringed with soft black eyelashes. Strands of bronze hair

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The crisp, cool breeze changed her chubby, caramel cheeks a rosy red. Pushing her charcoal chopped hair to the side of her face. Bright with life, nothing could wipe the smile of her youthful face.

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Her placid look can be easily looked over at first glance, but as you look closer you notice the intricate details of her face. Her fine dark chocolate hair frames her skin as she looks into your eyes. Emiliya came from another age; filled with tradition and raw nature. The darkness of her eyes reflects the light, and leaves a deep reflection in them. Although she is young, she has seen much more than most; her expression reveals wisdom beyond her years. Emiliya belongs with her people; with her mother who hand-makes the clothes she wears, and her father who hunts everyday to feed her. Beautiful things don't ask for attention, and she is one of them.

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Solemnly, he poses in his precisely fitting military garb. A stern expression on his face casts  a shadow over the pale landscape. A deep sadness can be observed by the faraway look in his eyes, as he stares off into the distance. The taste of blood and sea spray are lingering from a past memory upon his tongue.

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The only other person who could match her beauty was medusa. The only number bigger than her pay check is her number of likes she gets on her Facebook page yelling at  Hillary Clinton. Her jet black curly hair strikes terror into her enemy's eyes.

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Her eyes are a bright shade of blue that reminds me of the waters of Bora Bora. Her face is an untouched canvas, perfectly smooth. She stares straight ahead, as if she is afraid of her future. Determined, she is brave and brilliant.

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As he took a step onto the diving board, Fredward felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He was nervous. He took a few more steps forward and felt a cold breeze on his sensitive face. The cameras, positioned directly in front of him across the room, were ready to take a picture anytime. Fredward looked at them remembering the incident that happened the previous year. He put his best game-face on and got ready to do his dive, hoping that the cameras would get a better picture this time. Fredward took his steps and dived, however, realized his mistake of jumping too high and at the wrong angle. As he came down towards the water at an accelerating speed, he heard the snap of a picture as the room was quiet with anxiety. He hit the water and tasted the chlorine, coming up with a mouthful of failure. The room was silent as he swam to the ladder, coming up, he felt the cold water dripping off of his tan body. He walked to the locker room not so gracefully, got dressed and went home. The next day, Fredward looked at the newspaper and flipped to the sports section.

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Staring into the camera, Ted gives his best artificial smile for his work ID. As he forms his signature smile, he feels his stubble poke into his dimples. His colorful, kaleidoscope eyes distract the photographer, and Ted's facial muscles start to relax. The shutter clicks. Regretting his outfit decision for picture say, Ted remembers that he chose the bold outfit in order to make an impression on his new boss, compensating for the lack of his hair on his head.

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Her wrinkles are vast and abundant like an elephant in the savana. Her old tanned skin hangs off her face like a waterfall over a cliff. The anger on her face as if she had been yelling at playing children all day. Her cinnamon brown hair drapes over her head like she is wearing a cereal bowl as a hat.

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John is an older man. His face shows lines of age and wisdom. His eyes have a picture of sadness etched into them. His prominent nose is a peninsula; sticking out of his face. His long, gray-white hair blows gently in the breeze and his baggy eyes are surrounded by bushy eyebrows.

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Grayness danced in her eyes like a thunderstorm right before the rain. Her freckles danced across her face .  You could see the roughness on the edge of her lips as if it told her whole story.

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The sun burned, but it was the dust whipped up by the wind that made her trek even more unbearable. Coating her caramel skin, the dust embedded itself into her pores until she no longer felt human, but rather like a ghost haunted by memories. Alone, she gathered her meager cloak around her and continued on her path thinking only of her lost son whose emerald eyes had widened in surprise and looked through her just as they heard the whistling of the bomb when it hit the thin, meaningless concrete wall of their living room days before...