Writing Prompt

A ship in a bottle lay at the base of a fractured headstone. A slender figure took a step back and returned one hand to a pocket, the other under his sandpaper chin. A prickly week’s growth of chin fuzz peppered his face. He itched it with his thumb.

‘Barely had any time to shave.’ His inner voice reminded.

Gazing like a child making up his own game, a smirk lifted on his thin face. Every letter...