Weekly Writer’s Prompt: Camping Trip Gone Wrong

Readers – In an effort to diversify my writing skills, I signed up for weekly writing prompts. Once a week, you’re given a topic and must respond in 500 words or less. This is my first time at this, so your comments are greatly appreciated.

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.
These no good witches claiming to be my friends. They said we were going to the club. They drugged my mojito. I told them no when they first mentioned camping weeks ago. I don’t do nature unless it’s the botanical gardens, the zoo, or Canyon Ranch. And this doesn’t look like Canyon Ranch – mosquitoes and no deep woods off. Plus, I’ve seen too many movies to know better than to go in the woods and camp far from the only means of escape.
I take stock of survival gear. Not wilderness man, I’m thinking urban jungle. What can be used as a small weapon in case one of these fools goes postal and this turns into Deliverance Revisited. Found the keys, now in my pocket. I spoke too soon.
Someone wants to share and talk repressed childhood memories. Whatever happened to taking things to the grave! No good thing comes from sharing. I’m not your therapist and you aren’t paying me to listen so save your thoughts until we get back to the city, selfish. Here goes one heifer sharing about her Freddy Krueger upbringing. As my other two girlfriends huddle near psycho heifer, I pretend to handle my business in the bushes. Out of sight, I run in the direction they say the car is parked. I’ll show them for bringing me out here. Walk back to the city! As I’m running, I hear screams and cries for help. I’m not stopping for nobody. Somebody has to live to tell the story and it may as well be me. Every woman for herself and God for us all. “Lord please let them fight off the attack long enough for  me to get to the car. Amen.”
I was drugged on the trip here so I don’t know if I’m going the right way. The screams are starting to trail off, which only means the killings have stopped and psycho heifer is after me now. Urban survival, keys between knuckles. I pick up a rock – big enough to pack a punch, small enough for my palm. If that heifer wants a fight, it’s on like donkey kong. If it comes to fists to cuffs, I’ll give her something to think twice about.
It’s too quiet. Surprise is my only defense. If I don’t survive, at least they’ll know I gave her hell. I find a hiding place. Come on you crazy heifer, “I’m your huckleberry.”
A few days later I wake up in a hospital. I am a bit bruised and almost died from cold in the night until a jogger found me. I turn on the television. Apparently, I am the prime suspect for the killing of two women and the disappearance of another. But that’s not right, I was drugged and hunted. I know one thing, if crazy heifer is still alive, she’d better stay hidden. I’m coming after her now.
Ronda Lee
Founder, Editor-in-Chief
Ronda is an attorney, writer, and entrepreneur. She is a contributing writer for the Huffington Post. Originally from Chicago, she has lived in Los Angeles and New York. She loves to travel and is passionate about education equity, especially for first generation college students.

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