The Object of Hate

Somebody loudly declared their presence, as though they were a king or something, demanding respect. It seemed to have a pretty strong effect, as the people rioting had stopped to turn and look at this person.

However, while the way he spoke may have been with the tone of a king of some sort, his appearance was anything but. Nobody looked the best as of now, including me because of the disease spreading, but apparently, it could be way worse.

The man in front of me was slathered in mud. Strands of his hair were stuck together dryly by pieces of dirt. As for the clothes, not only were they covered in mud, but there were several layers of incredibly large sweat stains across them, almost like it was actually a monochrome pallet.