Welcome to the fourth week of the Spring Writing Challenge!
You all did so well with your stories last week! There were so many interesting and unique ways you interpreted the prompt. It’s now the fourth week, so it’s time to do it again! Will your story have an epic battle between good and evil? A long-lost evil brother? Whatever you decide, we can’t wait to see what you come up with.
So, without further ado, here’s your next prompt!
Week Four Prompt – The Theme Prompt
Write a story that’s about a
Bigfoot Reunion
Wait…what’s a theme prompt?
A theme prompt is a prompt that’s about a particular subject! It doesn’t matter where your story takes place, who’s in it, or what’s said. The only thing that matters is that your story must be about a Bigfoot Reunion.
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the stories you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice.
2. Your story must be 1,000 words or less, and must contain the prompt to be counted for the challenge. You’re not required to post it in order to “win” the challenge, but if you want it to count for your team, your story must be posted by Sunday at 11:59 PM ET, and you must include your team name.
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your story as an “answer” to this question, not a “comment”. 🙂 You’re all doing such a great job! I’m so proud of all the stories you’ve posted.
Happy Writing!
Team 1
Stomp. Tap. Squeak.
Tap. Tap.
The tip of a black shoe clicked in the small circle of light, keeping it’s occupant in darkness. It beat a rhythm like the snapping of fingers in a slam poetry café.
Squeak.
The minor interruption had eyes searching the aisles for the latecomer.
Squeak. Squeak.
A flurry of chaotic squeaks zooming, rushing, running across the stage until one loud squeak stemming from a large red shoe stomped into the spotlight. The tapping stopped. The room silent. Waiting.
Then the owner of the black shoe stepped into the spotlight.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “Together again for our reunion tour: Bigfoot!”
The stage flooded with light and the room with applause.
On stage five well dressed, exceptionally tall, and exceptionally big footed men stood facing a crew of motley clowns also with exceptionally large feet.
“Here with us today, these clowns think they can out stomp us.”
The clowns whirled their noisemakers as half the audience cheered and half booed in the spirit of friendly competition. Their red shoes hit the floor and soon the Entrance of the Gladiators could be detected in their seemingly mad scuffle.
It was soon interrupted by the more serious tapping and clicks coming from Bigfoot as they entered into river dance. The clowns with mocking faces followed with a solemn funeral march. Or not so solemn as the heavy footfalls were interrupted by the occasional squeak, resulting with the offending clown getting it up his backside.
Bigfoot came in as FBI agents to stomp the clowns of the stage. Clicks and squeaks melding in an odd cacophony that somehow worked perfectly together. The dance off ended and the audience was urged to vote with their applause.
Each team declared themselves the winner. And the second dance off began.
While the competition was friendly enough, it was a bit personal for the leader of Bigfoot whose brother was the leader of the clowns. They had competed in everything their whole lives. And here they were competing again, only this time without mommy to choose between them.
Tap, tap, tippity, tap
Stomp, stomp, squeak, stomp.
Choreographed moves. Practicing together, working together, and yet still competing.
A couple hours later and they were sitting together backstage, shaking hands and not knowing which act was the better act.
“Seen Mom recently?” asked the leader of Bigfoot.
“Brought a rose the other day.”
“She would’ve noticed when I missed the heal toe.”
“She would’ve notice when I accidentally squeaked instead of stomped. And I’m a clown for Pete’s sake.”
They laughed. This laughter was followed by a sad contemplative pause.
“Ted,” The clown said. “I know you had your differences, but she loved you.”
“I know.”
“She criticized only to help us grow.”
Ted gave a slight smile. “It worked.”
“Good luck on your tour. Let us know when your back in town, we’ll have dinner.”
Ted nodded then watched his brother march away, red shoes squeaking.
He supposed they were no longer competing.
