“How could anybody be so good-looking?” he thought to himself, admiring his reflection in the mirror. He did, in fact, look good. Never shy of funds, he ensured he was always impeccably groomed. His friends thought he was vain, and he agreed. After all, humility was for the ugly.
After one last approving look, he headed out to his usual night haunt. It was cold and the road was nearly deserted. He was barely a kilometre out when he got the feeling that he was being followed. He glanced around and saw a crooked old man walking behind him.
Old, ugly, and probably not dangerous, he thought. Unperturbed, he walked on until he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the old man. Now that they were inches apart, he could see the shrivelled skin, the hunched back, and the liver spots.
“What do you want, old man?” He sneered, wondering why he was bothering with a lunatic. The old man smiled and time just ticked by.
Angry and out of his elements, the young man snarled, “Say something, oldie!”
There was no response from the other side, but the silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the old man spoke, “What you are, I was; what I am, you will be,” and walked away.
That was the last time he saw the crooked old man, until 30 years later, when he looked in the mirror. The good looking face was gone. The old man stared back at him.