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/Reepicheep
A Bigfüt Reunion
The Sasquatch was enormous—ruby eyes, snarling maw, a flawless metal mane reflecting the night over a Washington panorama and the stage’s flame-lit braziers. Looming over centerstage, the twenty-foot metallic cryptid looked like it was howling with the thousand fans in bigfoot masks, giant hair, and Chewbacca suits, clamoring for Bigfüt to take the stage.
Ash loved everything about the setup—forty years on the glam-power metal scene earns you whatever epic stage you want, wherever you want, even if it’s a one-night-only reunion in your home state, nestled in Skamania County.
From his vantage point, Ash could see everything. He’d considered buying a ticket, but the lights, the sounds, the crush of people—all of it felt like a mosh pit in his chest. Thankfully, with the concert near his home, he was comfortable enough lurking instead in the cedars he’d played around all his life.
Electrified cheering erupted when roadies emerged to test the instruments. Ash held his tongue, desperate to join the infamous Yeti Yells. He ran a sweaty hand through his big hair and adjusted his dad’s tight-fitting vintage ’85 tour shirt.
He missed his dad. They listened to Bigfüt nonstop. His dad explained the lyrics, told stories of the band’s breakup before Ash was born, and always said Bigfüt saved his life.
But the timeworn bandana tied around Ash’s bicep told a different story:
You saved me, Nick. –Troy.
How had his father “saved” Troy Stone, Bigfüt’s legendary front man? He wouldn’t say. The closest came on his deathbed: “I wish I could see Troy once more and—return his bandana,” his eyes drifting toward Ash, “show him the proof.”
Tonight was the night. Not only would Ash finally see Bigfüt live, he’d fulfill his dad’s wish and return that bandana.
But how in the world would he brave the crowd?
A whoosh of wind carried the evening’s loudest applause and Yeti Yells through Ash’s fringe, yanking him from his thoughts—Troy Stone and Bigfüt had emerged.
“Hello, Washington!” Troy cried.
Their first riffs sliced through the air. For nearly two hours, Ash forgot his fear, caught in the paranormal claws of rock history’s finest. Bigfüt played flawlessly—Troy’s towering vocals, the drums, the licks—thrashing the Washington landscape with melodic aftershocks.
Before Ash knew it, the final notes faded, and Troy belted the last cry of Bigfüt’s legacy into the night. The band clasped hands and bowed to raucous cheers.
A boulder plummeted in Ash’s stomach.
It was over. His chance—gone.
He had failed his father.
He growled at himself. What on earth made him think he could get close enough to Troy Stone?
Bigfüt exited. While the crowd cheered, Ash felt empty. Limbs heavy, he turned and began his descent.
But the crowd stirred. Yeti Yells surged. The stage lights and fires remained.
Troy Stone and Bigfüt walked back out.
The encore.
“Want one more?” Troy called. Ash’s heart thumped in time with the jumping fans.
One more chance.
“We’ve saved our biggest for last,” Troy said. “Since we won’t play it again, it’s time I share the truth behind it.
I used to live out here. Beyond those fences, forty-one years ago, I almost died. Our first contract fell through, we had in-fighting, and drugs numbed everything. I took a walk by the falls. I planned to jump.”
Ash stopped breathing.
“Without really thinking, I sang some improvised lyrics, dark stuff, whatever was going on in my head. I stepped to the edge—and jumped. But I slipped. A bandana I wore on my arm snagged on a root. Somehow, I didn’t fall.
A hand reached down and pulled me up. It was . . . Nick. He said he was hunting and heard me singing. Told me he’d been thinking the same dark things. We understood each other. Nick saved my life.”
The crowd roared.
“He even helped rename the band!” A thousand Yeti Yells shook the Evergreen State. “Taking that walk to die gave me a reason to live. So, Nick, wherever you are—this song’s for you. This is Nick of Time.”
As the final song kicked off, Ash untied the bandana and stared at the faded words.
Now he understood.
A sudden gust of wind sent the bandana flying.
Ash’s stomach dropped as he watched it soar over the fence.
And over the crowd.
But this time, he didn’t care.
Ash vaulted the fence and gave chase.
“Hey!” a guard shouted, walkie-talkie crackling to alert the rest of security.
Ash slipped into the back of the standing crowd, surrounded by big-haired bigfoots.
“Killer suit, dude!” a fan yelled.
Ash weaved forward, eyes locked on the floating bandana. Security pressed in. The bandana hovered fifteen rows from the stage.
Suddenly, it dropped.
By instinct, Ash leapt, caught it—and landed in a crowd-surfing zone. The hands surged him toward the stage.
He gripped the bandana tighter as Troy came spinning into view. Disoriented, Ash found himself onstage just as the song ended, pyrotechnics blazing.
Bigfüt huddled together for a final bow.
Security gathered in the wings.
It was now or never.
He rushed Troy, holding out the bandana. Emotions coursing, all he could choke out was, “You. Saved. Him. I’m. Proof.”
Surprised, Troy smiled—then paused, gaping at the bandana.
He took it as guards grabbed Ash, throwing him offstage and out through a gate into the woods.
*
Troy stared at the fabric in his hands. Forty years. Forty years since he’d given this bandana to Grannik—the bigfoot who saved him. He unfolded it.
Despite the faded ink and the crowd’s roar, he remembered exactly what he’d written.
And that, after their cliffside meeting, Nick said he wanted to change, too.
Maybe have a child.
Troy turned to where the kid had been thrown out. Now that he really looked, the figure fading into the trees—the overlarge shoulders under the vintage shirt, the loping arms he’d assumed were costume pieces—looked a lot like Nick.
