Taking Census, approaching the building
Glare of the sun reflecting off the abandoned hotel, pierced my eyes .. stench of a body filled my nostrils, sharp gravel on bare feet kept me shifting from one foot to the other.
Looking through open window
Blanket of blowflies over the corpse imprinted on my brain. A crack of a twig, The hardness of a gun on the back of my head. Dropping down turning and then with an upward thrust of the heel of my hand, forcing my assailant’s septum into his brain.
Walking away from the building.
Writing: Nobody home.
Word Count- 100
Written for Friday Fictioneers Thanks for hosting Rochelle and thanks to Yarnspinner for the photo prompt.