Mr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;