Bear Hunting (Microfiction)

This is a microfiction (less than 500 words) piece, written for a Creative Writing Class. The challenge is to tell a whole story within a word count.

2022

...

Every year after Christmas, Damien and I would pack up our warmest winter clothes and drive up to Hollyfield Lake, in the mountains. It was a five-hour trip, and he would drive the whole way in one grueling stretch as I finished knitting a pair of green mittens for him. Every year, I told him that I did not want to go. Six years of marriage, six winters at the cabin. I closed my eyes and rested my hand on Damien’s arm, fingers brushing against his heavy brown overcoat.

“Baby, hand me that jar,” he growled, and I reached into my basket to fish out blueberries that we had saved in the icebox for this trip. Driving jerkily with his left hand, and popping blueberries into his mouth with the other, his lips smacked disgustingly, and within 10 minutes the entire jar was gone. I sat in silence. Damien would surely leave me to rot in the cabin for the next several weeks, while he hunted.

Well, this year would be different. I was setting out traps in hopes of helping him. I imagined how impressed he would be when he found out that I had caught a rabbit or beaver. He was out hunting in the dark morning when I heard an anguished roar. Oh, yes! Perhaps a creature had stumbled into my trap. I ran out into the cold air, compass in hand, traveling about a mile East through the dark forest until I came upon the trap. Blood, like cherry cordial, spattered across the white snow around the trap. Wounded, but escaped.

I followed the streaks of blood trailing through the snowy wood. I ran faster through the powdery snow, grabbing the heavy fabric of my skirt as I clumsily went. A dark, prowling shadow pushed through trees in front of me. It barreled through the forest like a bear, dark brown coat and heavy footfalls. I pulled out my shotgun, manicured nails perched on trigger, and fired: Once, twice, three times. The bear fell, swaying down and collapsing with a thud.

I ran closer and closer to my conquered game, and the bear’s heavy brown coat stopped breathing. His leg oozed blood around the ankle, where the trap had got him. Instead of paws, he wore green knitted

mittens.