So this is the first short story i've ever written, other than for highschool and that being said. This story is written for my girlfriend for her graduation. i just need this to be corrected, i dont have good grammar or anything of the sort, so correct my paper please!!!! It's not done yet, and i've still got about another page to go its written to be VERY descriptive... anyways here it is, thanks in advance!! A Gentlemen's Tale Of Redneck Hunting. It was a bright and sunny day in the fields of Georgia, the fog slowly floating by from a long humid night. The day was perfect for a hunt. The men of the households gathered up their tools, an assortment bows, rifles, and bear traps. The wives busied themselves with the making of lunches and dinners, playing their part in the hunt. Harold, this day's leader was already packed and rearing to go, his twelve gauge shotgun locked and loaded. Throwing everything in the back of his old rusty 67' Ford F150, his heart pounding with excitement, blood rushing to his fingertips, a full week on the great hunt what could be better? Now, the hunt for Big Foot has been a long standing tradition of this small town in Georgia. A hunt passed on from generation to generation, Harold was brought into the hunt at the age of 12 by his father, just as Harolds father did for him. Big Foot, a monster in normal folks thought, but here, it was a pathway to riches and fame. People of years past have only captured a few blurry images of the big man, or ape, whatever you would like to call him or it. But Harold knew he was the one man, the one man of thousands that would finally capture Big Foot, to finally drive into the town with it strapped to the back of his old truck. The road was dusty, he was leading the ten truck caravan into the wilderness. Suddenly, the road wasn't dusty, it turned to mud almost sludge like. Their tires kicked up mud plating their truck like a horse running through it. The path only got worse, more muddy, more twisted even more narrow. The younger boys looked in amazement, finally after years of waiting, the stories came true, they were there. Harolds' truck screached to a halt, sinking softly into the soft mud. The other men jumped from their trucks with a holler, beckoning the ancient beast to come out of it's hiding. The tents immediately started getting thrown into form, multicolored portable homes, of course the colors were patches and more of the, mustier shade. Little fires sparkled the landscape, stars in the sky. The young boys ran round, and the old men cooked and of course popped open some good old whiskey. Around twenty men and boys, hurtled around fires, there has never been such a noisy fire. They all sang in unison songs about the hunt, and quietly they hummed the tunes their fathers did, and for the very end they recited the old Big Foot poem.(insert poem here). Ahh, there was never a better poem to be heard in all of Georgia. The sun rose from it's seemingly deep sleep, and the moon passed behind the mountains. With a loud grumble the men and boys woke from their own sleep. Working quickly the people of the camp packed up their bags and strapped them to their back, there was no trucks allowed where they were going. Finally the group started to move deep into the marsh they trudged there boots already wet and soaking from the mud, their shoes seem to have added 5 pounds from all the mud.
