The clock strikes eight A.M. and Cities 97 softly plays as I am roused by my alarm clock. I immediately whip the fluffy covers of my bed off and my feet abruptly land on the cold floor below. I quickly walk to my closet and dress myself in the stretchiest, most comfortable articles of clothing I own that allow the most movement. My uncontrollable mane of hair is skillfully tied back into a tight bun before I walk to the top of the staircase, anxiously awaiting my opponent’s arrival. She finally appears and looks ready for battle. Our eyes meet in mutual understanding of the events to proceed as we slowly descend the staircase. It is game day. Quite possibly the biggest game of the year. As always, there is one winner and we both are playing to earn the glorious title of champion.

The two competitors finally arrive to the battle zone, preparing to conquer their opponent and leave as this year’s winner. The strict rules are explained by the game maker, a man called “Dad.” As we crouch into our starting positions, everything moves in slow motion. Thoughts of winning are racing through my mind as I give my sister one last glare of challenge and ferocity. Finally, I hear my dad yell “GO!” and the game begins.

The two participants make a mad dash in opposite directions, Hannah bolting for the kitchen and I bounding towards the family room. We are both on a mission, viciously searching for the small, pastel-colored, plastic eggs of glory. There are 20 hidden throughout the war zone, known as our main floor. Territories include the family room, kitchen, dining room, and living room. Every other piece of turf is off-limits and hold no bounty of eggs.

I see the first egg behind a window curtain and quickly snatch it and throw it in my safely guarded basket. I leap to the couch and aggressively throw the pillows and blankets aside as I retrieve yet another magnificent egg filled with surprising wonders. I now have two eggs, and can already smell the hints of victory. As I continue my competitive search, I see Hannah placing a third egg in her basket. . .NO! I must win and be crowned victor. It’s my year.

After collecting a few more eggs from the family room, I rapidly sprint to the kitchen to search for any remaining eggs that Hannah may have missed. I find one in the silverware drawer, making my collection of eggs at 8. I yell to my opponent, asking how many eggs she has retrieved, hearing the gruff response of “9!” THIS CANNOT BE. 3 eggs left and I must beat this skilled opponent or suffer another year as loser. Running to the living room, I spy a carefully hidden egg in the seat cushion of the couch and I forcefully grab it and throw it in the basket. 2 eggs left. It’s on.

To my shock and horror, I see Hannah snatch an egg from within a vase. There is 1 egg left. Hannah is ahead by 1. Will she win? Or will we tie? I MUST MAKE THIS A TIE. I WILL NOT LOSE.

We both stare at each other, with looks of vicious hunger to defeat the other. The two competitors race to the dining room and search for the final egg. After aggressive pushing and shoving, I see the glare of a small, pink egg basking in the sun behind a pile of books. As fast as I can, I run to the site of victory and grab the egg. I have made the game a tie. I didn’t win or leave as victor, but I didn’t lose. And that’s enough for me.

This year’s game is over, and the two participants divvy up the earnings. We are surrounded by chocolate eggs, jelly beans, and peeps. As we gorge ourselves on the sugary goodness engulfing us, we both strategize for next year’s game.

The above story is a typical Easter Egg Hunt my sister and I participate in each year. It is a long awaited challenge, and thought of very seriously. For those of you who have read the books, I equate each year’s hunt to The Hunger Games battle in the arena. Tomorrow is the big day, and I promise, readers, to win…for you. HAPPY EASTER!

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