December 2, 2019 - wrote 25 words for Respect Your Elders turn 8.
Worked a pretty busy shift today, which kinda sucked a lot of me energy out, so not much progress on the actual turn front today. However, I see no reason to let that stop me from doing stuff, so have this snippet. Not sure what to call it, any suggestions?
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Broken fingers dug into cracked ground. Parched dirt crumbled under their touch, the dust whispering against their skin with tongues of merciless lack. The digits clenched, digging soft furrows into the turf before finding purchase.
The man's body scraped forwards inch by inch, a dead sack of meat soaked through with congealed blood and abdominal juices. The moisture had left his flesh long ago, leached out into the hollow air, cooked out under the unrelenting gaze of the sun. The desert was a grand tomb, and the man's corpse the unnamed, forgotten pharaoh, mummified by his own mucous and the slowly tightening sack of his skin.
The man's trail stretched far behind him, and his destination lay far ahead. He would spend an eternity in the desert, and should he ever stop moving he would calcify, becoming bleached bone and dust under a pale sky. But though his death hung heavy in his flesh, the man's limbs continued to move with relentless, mechanical patience.
Reach forward. The crust of the earth bites at leathery skin, sizzling with heat as crumpled digits push through.
Grasp. Tendons groan like rusted cables atop a decrepit bridge as they slowly contract.
Drag. A little more dust seeps into the man's open chest cavity, drifting into his heart.
The promise he made rests there still. It is muffled by the sand and dry, crumbling dirt, but it never breaks.
The man's body scraped forward a few more inches.
