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!
Hi this is Levi from team A – here’s the story :D-
—Kiss of Death—
It all started with Operation Bigfoot.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Stupid name, right? But I don’t got a say in that kinda junk, and I know where to keep my nose, if y’know-what’m-sayin.
Anyway, the Operation was a bit different from the average job. Assassination of a fellow Bonanno isn’t typically on the list with weapons-smuggling, money-laundering, court-bribery and the like. But I guess once the Boss found out Aurelio’d been smuggling goods behind his back for some extra profit, it was pretty clear what was gonna happen.
The team for the dirty work was made up of me and a few more soldato, along with my brother-in-law Gianni- our inside man. Gianni was only an associate; couldn’t be a “made man” like us, because he wasn’t full-blood Italian. But we still needed him, nonetheless, since he lived in the same cozy NYC apartment building as Aurelio, and brought us layouts and info and whatnot.
Our orders were simple- One, secretly follow Aurelio home one night. Two, wait ‘til the Capo has fallen asleep with his family. Three, pick locks, plant a bomb in his place, and let it blow to the moon. Botta-boom. Operation Bigfoot complete.
And you know, to the surprise of nobody, everything went according to plan.
The trouble began after.
***
I could still feel the endless waves of heat and the crackle of flames as I slipped into a nearby alley which was narrow and strewn with junk.
I could hardly see in the intense darkness as I wedged my way along but for the reddish firelight that squinted between the two towering buildings.
I was alone. The other boys were going home different routes. Cops’d get there soon enough.
My heart thumped. I could feel the weight of my pistol resting in the pocket of my black dress suit.
“Ey Marcello!” The voice was distant. From where I’d come. Gianni.
I kept moving without a backward glance as I sidestepped over garbage, my oxfords clicking on the cold pavement. My hands wandered to my pockets.
“Ey Marcello whe’ y’goin?” His voice was nearer. Came out in an almost froggy tone. Almost sounded like he was trying to suppress some emotion.
I kept moving. Nearing the inky sliver of the end of the alley.
Felt a sweaty hand on my shoulder. Heavy. Strong. I stopped. My fingers curled around my cold pistol.
“So Marcello,” I could feel the familiar hot breath of the taller man on my neck. “whe’s the dough?”
My hands still in my pockets, I shook Gianni’s off my shoulder and turned to the burly mustached man. He looked like a devil silhouetted against the red glow at the alley’s entrance. I could tell even in the darkness that he was wearing his typical white sweater and brown leather jacket.
“I can only tell you once, Gianni.” I whispered, and clicked the safety off my concealed gun. “Here is not the place.” And I turned. Continued down the alley.
“Then whe’s the place?” His voice was very near. He was following. “I need the cash brother! Hard times, y’know?”
I said nothing. Kept walking.
I felt the hot breath down my neck. “You guys are sick, y’know that? I almost died f’you back there!”
I stopped. Turned. My hands still in my pockets. “I don’t make the rules.” I breathed, “They’ll get you a message. Where to be. What not to bring…” My gaze wandered uncomfortably to an L-shaped bulge in the pocket of his jeans. I hadn’t noticed it before in the dark.
He grit his teeth, stuffing his hands in his own tight pockets. “You’re sick, y’know that? Ain’t got a clue why my sister married you.”
I ran my finger up and down the trigger of the gun in my pocket.
Gianni suddenly yanked a pistol out of his pocket and struck me across the face with it. The skin next to my eye broke open and my free hand flew up to clutch my face.
An icy breeze whistled past me from behind, almost whispering the words-
Kiss of Death.
Gianni had struck a made man.
An Untouchable.
***
I swallowed.
Felt the weight of the two fully loaded pistols in the pockets of my coat. They felt like lead. Could I go through with it?
I glanced to my left and right. The rest of the soldatos from Operation Bigfoot were standing shoulder to shoulder with me. Expressionless. Silent. They all wore the same black suit and tie I did, and they all had two loaded pistols in their pockets just like me.
We all knew our orders. All waiting. Waiting for Gianni.
It was around midnight, and we were standing in a bare beige room, dimly lit by yellow lights. A steep stairwell was embedded in the far wall and led up through the ceiling. We were in the basement of an old ally’s house near the edge of town.
We’d all been given the message earlier that day when the Underboss heard about what’d happened to my face: ‘Shack at the far side. Reunion of the collaborators at Bigfoot. Gianni will come. Bring two. Loaded. You know what to do.’
There came a sound of heavy footsteps above us.
I swallowed. Could I do it? My love’s own flesh and blood?
Gianni burst clumsily down the stairs at the far end of the room, dressed in his sweater and jacket. His face red and creased with frustration. The big man moved toward us, fists clenched.
He crossed his muscular arms. “So whe’s the dough?”
I placed my hands in my pockets, fingering the cool, smooth metal.
“I’m sorry, Gianni.” My voice quivered. “But you’ve sealed your fate.”
Gianni’s eyes darted.
Four of the five soldato pulled eight pistols and fired, cracking the air.
When the smoke cleared-
There my hands were. Still in my pockets.
