Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Sasquatch Sound

Deep in the remote Ozarks, in a hovel carved out of a great old oak, there lived a sasquatch. Every morning, as the sun peaked over the pine thickets, she would pick up a well worn club and tap her name against the side of hollow home.



She would always be greeted by the echoes of her own name, then silence. She had only ever seen the face of her kind in her own reflection. Thump had been raised by the trees and wisened by the beasts of the forest. She was never without company in the lively wood. Still something inside her wanted to call out, and knew that a stick and a log was the way to do it.

One morning as she wailed on her tree, an answer came. 




Her heart skipped a beat. Blood rushed to her face, every inch of her shaggy fur stood on end. She wanted to move, but couldn't possibly decide what to actually do. 


The confirmation that she hadn't simply imagined the noisy stranger sent her sprinting through the trees, bolting in the direction of the sounds. She left snapped limbs and cracked branches in her wake,   her great mass hurtling through the narrow gaps between trees with ease. Her large feet pounded the underbrush pushing harder and harder until she came to the edge of a clearing. Something wasn't right. She tried to stop, but the great moment of her sprint sent her sprawling. It was the smell, something had been burning. Thump had seen fire before, but never started one herself. With an insulated fur coat and a raw vegetarian diet, she had no reason to. 


She picked herself up and scanned the clearing anxiously. There it was, a pile of smoldering twigs in a burnt circle. There was something else as well. A grey cylinder lying on it's side by the fire. Thump cautiously lifted the sooth object in her great hands. She had never felt anything like it, it was softer and smoother than rock but not as rigid as wood. She gave it a gentle shake. 


The bucket sprang to life. "OOKE!" Thump reeled back in shock, and as it fell from her hands the lid popped free. To her surprise, a little pink nose poked it's way out of the open end, followed by a grey furry body. A opossum. Her mysterious caller had been a opossum trapped in a bucket.

She let out a great sigh, not of disappointment but relief. She realized that she had no idea what she would have done if it had been another of her kind. Would they have even been welcoming, or did sasquatch fight over territory like stags? Perhaps it was for the best. She collapsed on the grass, and stretched her arms wide. The opossum waddled it's way onto her chest, and curled into a ball of warmth. 

"Ooh" Thump grunted softly, content to nap the morning's excitement away.

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