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!
Crashing the Sasquatch Social
Scott let his backpack slide off his shoulders, sinking to the ground beside it. He tipped his head back against a tree.
Four days.
It had been four days of trudging, clambering, plodding through these trackless woods. Four wonderful days. He didn’t even know where he was going.
At the beginning, he’d had some vague idea of just getting away for a little bit, going to ground somewhere nice and fishing for a few days to clear his mind. But he’d never felt far away enough from town. From the laughter, from the concerned looks, from the squinting, pencil-scratching series of quacks they’d tried to drag him to.
Never mind that it was late in the season. He was sick of people. People who wouldn’t believe him.
So he kept going.
And going.
And going.
Now he was starting to get hungry. He’d eaten nothing but canned tuna and pressed-fruit bars the last several days, and though he’d done his best to ration, he was running low. Thankfully, the stream he’d been following had clean, freezing spring water in it, but he knew that pretty soon he’d have to stop and set up camp, so he could start foraging and hunting.
Scott watched dully as an ant explored the butt of his rifle, which leaned against the tree beside him. He’d brought enough ammunition to keep himself going for a few months, if he had to. Used wisely, one deer could go a long way. He was a crack shot, too; you got to be that way when you spent half of every year living outdoors and snooping through the woods for Sasquatch.
At the thought of the elusive beasts, Scott chuckled weakly. He’d even brought his camera along on this impromptu ramble. Though, he figured he’d be more concerned with surviving as winter came on than with chasing down phantom figures.
“Well, I suppose here’s as good a place as any,” he muttered to the ant, who lost interest in his rifle and skittered off toward the stream. “This’s a good bank right here. I can stretch my tarp…”
Movement across the stream caught his eye.
It was something big.
Scott froze, squinting into the dim underbrush. There was definitely something out there, and it wasn’t walking on all fours like a bear.
With steady, noiseless movements, he grabbed his rifle and put his eye to the scope.
His heart juddered to a stop.
That shambling gait. Those flashing yellow eyes. Same as the ones he’d glimpsed all those years ago when he was ten years old, lost and cowering inside a hollow log while coyotes howled.
The Sasquatch vanished from view behind a thick wall of ferns. Scott rocketed to his feet, and before he even realized it, sprang over the stream with his bag on his back and his gun in hand. He fumbled for his camera in the side pouch as he dashed into the trees, trying to move quickly but quietly, lest he spook the thing. This was it! He’d finally get a perfect picture that no one could contest.
Man in a gorilla suit? Please! This was the day and age of such wonders as high-res cameras and rapid autofocus. Not even the most talented Photoshopper would be able to replicate the level of shot he’d get if he could just… catch… it!
It moved fast, with an uncanny knowledge of the woods. Scott scrambled after the shaggy shape, wincing at every pine needle that cracked under his boot and silently cursing each unexpected root or divot that forced him to look down and watch his step.
All of a sudden, the matted head vanished from view.
Scott abandoned all caution and raced forward, slinging his rifle over one shoulder so he could have both hands on the camera.
The trees and thick undergrowth gave way to a small dell, with a dirt floor and a honking big red cedar atop a ledge on the far end. Seated at rusty picnic tables beneath the tree were at least thirty Sasquatches. A dirt-coated banner hung from the cedar, with the words Class of 2010 scrawled with bright berry juice on it.
Scott gaped.
The pack of Sasquatches, including the one that had just arrived, stared back.
Scott was just beginning to process what he was seeing when he felt his rifle strap leave his shoulder.
“I’ll take this, thank you,” rumbled a deep, unfamiliar baritone.
Scott whirled, and yelped in shock.
“Hey, this is a nice model,” said the Sasquatch that stood behind him, looking the gun over. “Name’s Ed. I hope you weren’t planning to shoot Kevin with it.”
“I… grrrk… I didn’t… I wasn’t…”
“Good.” The Sasquatch – Ed, apparently – gave him a stern look. “It’d be a real downer for our valedictorian to show up to the party in a body bag.”
Wait, what?
“Party?” Scott squeaked.
“High school reunion.” Ed nodded to the picnic tables. “Can’t you read? It’s been years since I last saw Kevin. Won the Stalking Fair with him, you know. Scared the living daylights out of a logging crew.” He let loose with a howling laugh.
“You mean… a whole tribe of Sasquatch… enough for a high school?” Somewhere beneath his initial terror, Scott suddenly felt a spark of triumph. “I was right,” he whispered, squeezing his camera for sheer joy. “I was –”
WHONK!
Scott’s eyes rolled up into his head and he toppled, faceplanting into the duff.
“About time.” Ed scowled at another Sasquatch who’d snuck up behind Scott, wielding a baseball bat.
“He get any shots?”
Ed grabbed the camera and checked. “Nope.” He grinned. “I’ll go find a slippery rock or something to put him by. Make him think he hit his head. You let the others know I’ll be back in a minute.”
Ed scooped Scott up. The Sasquatches bumped fists, then went their separate ways.
Team A!
Funny story, Kinsey. I love the twist!