Another writing exercise. Even with only five minutes, it's possible to write a story.
The night was cold and Marcus could see his breath by the light of the full moon, so he was relieved when he saw shelter up ahead. The building appeared to be deserted as there was no sign of life within, so he cautiously let himself in. The inside showed signs of having been in a fire. In the center of the room, the dining table still stood, although on battered legs. On the table were remnants of cheese and cups. He brought one to his nose and sniffed the liquid inside, “Whiskey” he whispered, pleased with his find so he began drinking it. Why waste it? He thought to himself. Marcus continued to look around and something shiny caught his eye. He moved to the corner for a closer look and tugged and with the shiny object came a burnt bony hand, a cruel death indeed.