SHORT STORY: Rumes Going On a Bear Hunt

bear2 An average grey Thursday morning in May. I put on my wellingtons and raincoat determined. I was going on a bear hunt. I had a rucksack; I packed myself a packed lunch and brought a shiny spoon for good luck. This was going to be interesting. There must be a bear, here in Hampstead heath. If I was a bear this is exactly where I’d like to be. I trudged along the muddy paths, through the fallen trees and sudden tree trunks. I climbed branches, made friends with a robin redbreast and communicated with a squirrel. I knew this expedition was going to be hard.

bear 5 I stumbled upon bark covered in white fluff. There was a strange scent of fish hanging in the air. These signs told me we were dealing with a Polar bear. All I had was a packet of monster munch to lure that son of a bitch. This was a dangerous turn of events. I made a weapon out of a bird’s nest, a broken bench and the corpse of a homing pigeon with the help of a duck who strangely resembled Carol Thatcher. I continued my journey onwards.

bear1 After three and a half hours of trekking I began to lose hope and decided my bright blue raincoat didn’t help the hunting situation. The day was growing greyer to a point where I found myself questioning whether I was colour blind or if I was in a black and white thriller from the 1940’s. Turned out it was neither. The sun returned eventually. This might have saved my life. As I hurried up steep point I encountered a tree with a grim expression who pointed straight ahead with his wooden finger. I appreciated his help so followed its suggested path curiously. It lead to nothing. Damned tree

bear4 I was exhausted. My brow grew heavy with sweat and disappointment. All hope felt lost so I took a pull on my smoking pipe and asked ‘if I was a polar bear where would I be?’ And would capturing this bear even be a possibility? This pondered my mind. In the wet grass I climbed up to parliament hill to watch the clouds hang grey over London. I had failed. I ate a bar of chocolate in dismay. Yet an explorer never gives up. I roll down my sleeves and head home for tea ready to capture that snowy bastard next time defiantly.