Camping Trip

Here’s a writing prompt, provided by the lovely people at Writer’s Digest.

“You and your three closest friends decide to go camping. You arrive and set up camp nearly three miles away from where you left your car. Late that evening, as you sit around the campfire roasting marshmallows, one of your friends reveals a deep dark secret that turns what was to be a fun weekend into one of the scariest weekends of your life.”

First off, that camping trip was called a”Leprechaun Watch” (like a whale watch) to get me to go on it. It takes a strong persuasion to get me, in my weakly, powder-puff condition, to go to the grocery store, let alone three miles from my car. So we go on this leprechaun watch, my two best friends, Bilbo and Sanchez, sat outside of their tents as they got the fire ready to make the hotdogs I wanted for dinner. I stuck my head out of my RV’s window. “How are you guys doing out there? Are the hotdogs almost ready? I just need a fork to stir the macaroni and cheese with.”

That’s when the bomb was dropped by Sanchez, “We don’t have a fork. All we have is this spoon.”

Bilbo saw the mascara starting to drip down my cheeks. “The leprechaun must have switched our fork with a spoon!”

I knew leprechauns were little tricksters, but making someone use a spoon for macaroni? Despicable, sickening, grotesque.

A rustling came from the bushes surrounding the campsite.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Sanchez cried.

“Tarteeteetartahtartar!” An evil little laugh resounded.

In my fork-less rage, I barreled out of the RV and snatched the spoon from Sanchez’s hand, and chucked it at the bush.

“Ow!” The leprechaun emerged from the bush. “What did ya’ do that fer?”

“You’re ruining everything!” I shouted, as I stomped on him and his stupid little outfit.

I felt his body squash beneath my foot, but when I pulled it away, there was nothing but green glitter all over the bottom of my shoe.

“Ew.” I scraped my shoe against the ground, leaving a trail of glitter in the dirt.

“That’s not gonna come off.” Bilbo said, grabbing our fork off the ground.

“What an asshole. I hate leprechauns, I don’t even know why I came on this stupid watch. They are so tiny you have to squint the whole time and that hurts my forehead, and then one goes and takes our fork.” I said as I walked back to the RV, grabbing the fork from Bilbo’s hand, and slamming the door behind me.

“She’s not going to like when we tell her about the macaroni stealing el chupacabra known to these parts of the woods.” Sanchez whispered to Bilbo, as they laughed in front of the fire, eating my hotdogs.

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