The clock revealed it was almost 1pm. Time for our family’s annual Easter Egg Hunt. Mum and Dad were busy hiding the stash of eggs in the backyard. We could hear their muffled talk of watching for our prying eyes through the window.
The whistle blared, signalling the start of the search. We pushed past each other, rushing to be the first to find our share. Just like we had every year since we were kids.
My eagle eye caught a glitter of foil from the terracotta clay of a pot plant on the balcony. Too late! My fingers touched my sister’s skin as she snatched it out from underneath me.
“That was close!” I joked.
We scrambled and hunted, searching every nook and cranny – even in the charcoal of the fire pit.
Soon, we had all found our share. All but one. My brother in law’s last egg was nowhere to be found.
We looked and looked until our own chocolate began to melt. The weather was unseasonally warm for April and the chocolate had sat out long enough.
Eventually, conceding defeat, my mum handed him a stuffed koala instead.
“A koala-nsolation prize,” she said, smiling.
By Sarah ©2018