His beginning

The luster in his golden mane had faded, his hair caked with the dirt of his recent status. Dried blood hung from torn strains of his remaining locks. His face, like most of his body, was smeared with blood. An array of purples, greens and blues littered his shrunken body. Covering a wide variety of bruises, away from prying eyes, were the ‘clothes’ that he wore. The state of his ‘attire’ was tattered, shredded and torn. Different patterns and hues hung from his body, bound together like strings on a rag doll. His shoulders slumped heavily with an invisible load, one arm hanging limply at his side. His hands were filthy, covered in blood and dried mud. Scars traveled the length of his veins, slightly crooked and deep. Once a sun kissed god, now little more then a walking corpse, his skin pulled hauntingly against his small frame, casting the appearance of a shadowed mummy. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken and reset brutally by force. The gleam in his once crystal colored eyes, now bruised and swollen, was dull, lifeless at best. A fresh cut adorned his left cheek just under his bruised eye. Greening around the edges it began to bleed again slowly and steadily. Chunks of his ears were missing, like a dog had chewed them off during a fight, yet his hearing remained intact. His feet were bare and bleeding as he dragged them along the dirt road into town.