Monday, May 12, 2014
This is a micro (non) fiction piece I did for my latest class, about a rock throwing experience with my friend Sasquatch.
The southwestern Pennsylvania air was heavy as the oppressive May drought continued to plague the area. Eric and I ventured out in search of the legendary creature that some say inhabits Chestnut Ridge. Crack! A loud crash echoed through the forest; something was there stalking us.
The aroma of death drew us into the dark cave. The musk saturates the den. Random bones litter the darkness. The uneasy feelings grew louder as we ventured deep inside. Deer, rabbit, and mountain lion remains are everywhere; some creature definitely calls this dreary abyss home. Is it just a bear, or is it what we came for: Sasquatch? I thought.
Snap! A branch crashed outside the entrance; the creature was close. We ran toward the dense thicket of pine hoping to see the beast, to force the animal into the clearing. There, we will finally have proof Bigfoot was real. Crack!
“Look, in the ravine lumbering away.” I said. We could hear the invisible specter that haunts us; we knew he was there. At once, an odd silence cut through the tension mere seconds before the huge sandstone sarsen crashed at our feet. His message was clear: Stay Away!