The Dead Man’s Prize

The second exercise from the last meeting – enjoy:

Jacket, sordid, compass,

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, edging through the sordid dwelling, eyes searching for the compass even as they smarted from the noxious fumes rising from the rot and mold.

Broken furniture was piled haphazardly against the wall, and only a little light managed to get through the paper taped over the cracked windows. A pair of rats scuttled away from the sound of his footsteps, and he ducked into the next room, which was just as bad as the first. A pile of rags in the corner turned out to be a body, and it was only after he prodded it with the toe of his boot several times that he realized it was dead. He turned away, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the weak gleam of light on metal.

Turning back to the corpse, he saw the box wrapped in its arms, and his lip curled in disgust. He took two steps and retrieved a piece of wood with a jagged edge from the corner where it lay, and used it to prod the box away. Rigor mortis locked the dead flesh around his prize, and he groaned to himself. Closing his eyes, and steeling himself, he reached down to pry it loose.

Before his hands reached it, something smashed into the back of his head, and everything went black.


If you want to check out more of my writing, the first five books in the epic fantasy series Guardians of the Path are available on

❤ DragonBeck

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