Clyde looked through the sight of his rifle, aimed it at one of the trees, and shot off a round. “Nice shot,” said Benny. “If that tree were an animal, you’d have killed it.”
“Yep,” Clyde said. “Enough of this target practice. I’m ready for some blood sport.”
Benny lifted up his own rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The shot hit its target in the middle of the same tree trunk. “Yeah, I’m ready for some live targets, too,” he said.
Both men sheathed their rifles and started to walk away. “Wait,” Clyde said. “Did you hear that creaking sound?” He turned around and looked back toward the tree they had just been using for target practice.
“Holy shit,” exclaimed Benny. Both men watched as long, thick tendrils started growing from the trunk of the tree. After a moment the tendrils lifted the huge tree from the earth and it slowly moved toward the two men.
“Run!” screamed Clyde. But it was too late. The huge tree fell upon them, squishing them like bugs.
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: me.