It was nearly morning. The blood strewn across my lawn was newly dampened by the dew, having dried in the heat of last afternoon. I didn't have the heart to dispose of the body at the time. The bogle looked remarkably like a child, worse a mortified child, in its pre-mortem guise. Its camouflage dissipated with the first rays of dawn.
I looked down at the beast, its three heads with six eyes all rolled to white. Slashes marred every limb. Its trunk displayed the killing gash, an oozing hole between two ribs.
I gripped the collar of its makeshift garment. The cloth, stitched together with waxy strands of sinew, slipped from my grasp several times before I managed a solid hold. Several hundred paces stood between me and the cesspool. I sighed."Such is the life of a sentinel," I thought. "Danger, gore, and on occasion a meal when the land baron is feeling generous."
Sounds like a great part of a larger story.ReplyDelete
Thanks. This one will stay a minuscule story, I think. I have plenty of longer ones in brainstorming or drafting stages.Delete