The Deliberate Deed (Fiction)

Ron Koppelberger

The Deliberate Deed

The groundwork for the thing, the deed in fact was in skins of wild mountain goats and raven feathered primacy. Decorous, hooting he found what he needed in the weave of fur and feathers. Tromp, tromp, tromp, he wore giant sized boots, 18” with toes of triple endowed claw, claws of steel in careless abandon.
The hunters had spotted him, a sasquach dream, a Bigfoot fantasy. Dressed in orange they had begun firing their rifles at random. The first bullet pierced his right arm leaving a spray of crimson in the white powdery snow, the second bullet grazed his check and he howled in pain as blood coated his lips. Terrified he clomped to the hidden recess in the midst of a pile of granite and limestone boulders.
The next day the Harmony Gazette read:

“Bigfoot in Harmony Hills!”

The caption and the accompanying photo was of a gap-toothed hunter quoted as saying:
“It nearly killed us an I shot it but it jus ran away!”
There was a picture of a plaster footprint next to the hunter. He winced in pain and laughed simultaneously. It had been a real granny gulp.