Something From Class

Here is something that I wrote during Distilled Prose class. It was a simple exercise in Description.

Kellin's Hands
Kellin scraped the rot from his enlarged fingers. He worried over the warts and blemishes across the backs and washed the taint of years of blood and gore from his palms. The left thumb blistered from sword strain; the right pinky twisted from an ancient break. He washed them twice more hoping to reveal their true form. They remained cursed ogre hands as they always did. He sighed in resignation as he gloved them in the black leather of the manticore he slew over a dozen years ago. He could almost see their lost human form through the haze of broken memory. He buckled the last strap, pulling it tightly. He should have washed them again as he noticed that lingering itch on his left index.