The following piece is based on true events......
Run! Just run! It was all he could do, just to get as far ahead as he could, in the meagre five minutes head start he had. First things first, he had to get to the gate which would lead to the gully where he could begin leaving items, that would hopefully slow down the inevitable hunters. Only a minute had passed and yet his socks inside his boots had already begun their slow, rolling path off his legs, then ankles and down the soles of his feet before settling around his toes, strangulating the blood supply and causing great discomfort. He dismissed this annoyance and placed the irritating feeling into a corner of his mind in accordance to it's lack of importance. How long had gone now? Two minutes? Perhaps even three. Stopping as briefly as he could to leave the items that should buy him some time and delay the pursuit of his followers, he cursed himself for wasting time thinking about how long it had been since he started. He had made three drops before he got the "feeling". The "feeling" that many had experienced when no matter what you tell yourself, you're being followed. He tried to quicken his pace, already breathing heavily from a combination of the initial sprint and the weight of his back-pack. Now approached another foe, as if the followers weren't enough. A climbing, muddy conduit threaded upwards, away from the trail he had left. He had no choice: he must make his way through the quagmire and up into what he hoped, was a rest-bite from the chasing pack. The wet, sloppy mud sucked at his boots, slowing his journey. It was as if the dark brown mass wanted to hold him still, stopping him. It lazily uttered gloopy protests as he found reserves of strength to pull himself clear as he climbed the slope towards a gate. The ground changed in texture from muddy restrictiveness to a firmer, lush green base. He had to pause, sucking in oxygen to slake the thirst his lungs had. What could he do to slow his followers? He sent a coded message to an older member of the following pack asking, no begging them to slow down somewhat. "Hold them back! Please!" As soon as he had sent this message he stopped dead in his tracks, cocking his head to his left. Had he heard something? Or was his pulse, pounding in his ears, tricking him? Then it came. The noise was a high-pitched scream, piercing the damp air, arrowing it's way into his ear. Too close, they're too close! His message had failed, they were closing in! Wiping the beading sweat from his brow, he started down the slope towards another decoy point, where hopefully the items would buy him precious time. The elements were most certainly not on his side as rain began to lash down on him, combining with the sweat from his forehead to sting his eyes. He turned, looking at where he had come from, was that a figure? He couldn't tell, the rain was blinding him, confusing him. He couldn't wait, he had to move on. He found a burst of pace from somewhere deep within his tired legs, but with resignation, he knew it wouldn't be enough: he had the beating of his pursuers over the short distance, but they could maintain the slower speed for longer, eating away at the gap separating them from their prize. Checking his back-pack only added to his desperation, for he only had two more bags inside to use as tools to hamper their pursuit. Turning the corner he found that he had completed a "loop", coming back to where he had entered! What now? Where could he go? He was amazed that they were still not yet in sight, but it was surely only a matter of minutes, if not seconds. He made his way out of the gate and began his trek across a field. He had been here before in much more pleasant circumstances, and he knew a place that may just be a safe haven, at least for a while. He made his way along a well worn track, his boots now dragging with every step and the wind and rain pushing against him like an icy hand. With what little energy left he approached a large white stone and slumped against it. His back against the rock, he could see every avenue from which the terror would soon come. Perhaps it would have been better to not have seen them coming, but he decided he would rather watch them enter sight and accepted what was sure to happen. Clawing at the communication device he had, he sent a message simultaneously to many friends, hoping that someone could do something in time. Then they came. Things that should exist only in nightmares but were here, now. Small, but not to be underestimated especially in this state of frenzy. Was that mud on their faces? Or something else entirely? Incredibly they accelerated towards the stricken man, sensing his impending failure and more of the substance he had been leaving as a decoy. Accompanied by what many would describe as a "hell-hound" with a "Fenton" like ability, they fell upon the exhausted figure, clawing at his pockets and bag, searching for their prize, their sweet scent the final thing he was aware of... Many of you will have guessed by now what these "things" were and what their prizes were. For those of you who have not and have bravely followed this tale of horror through to it's end, here you are: The monsters were, what all parents fear, young children, already hyper-active from overdosing on easter eggs who sense more free chocolate is available! Joined in their quest by the "Hell-hound" known as Daisy, their prizes were yet more easter eggs including the ultimate sugar fix egg, the Cadbury's Creme variety.
In conclusion i can tell you that my plan to hoard all of the eggs would have worked, were it not for those "meddling kids." However we were all friends afterwards and went back parents and all, to our house for lashings of (ginger?) beer and a buffet. Will I eggscape next year when we do it again? We shell wait and see....
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