Hunted.

Got chased by ferel children in the woods. Jumped over fallen trees, scrambled through branches, hauled myself through mud. Their cries of “feed me Macdonalds ” grew more desparate the more I ran.
My breath grew heavy as I clawed my way up the mossy bank, rain drenching my clothes and hair, my Boots make up freshly applied that morning smearing my mud streaked cheeks.
I threw the dog in the car and screeched out of the car park desparate to escape.
As I drew up to the traffic lights, a small, bony hand grasped my shoulder and hissed, “There is no escape”.
The struggle is real this Easter. Send wine, send gin, I am hunted by children on holiday.
hunted at easter

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Posted on April 3, 2018, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

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