• There she stood. Spiked brown pixie hair, narrow grey eyes and a stature of about 3 foot 5. 6 years old Mary Walsh, my hated enemy. I peered through the binoculars at her from behind the giant oak tree.
    "What's she doing?"
    My fellow comrade, Jerome peered over my shoulder.
    "Shut up you idiot!"
    I turned around and pushed him back behind the tree.
    "If she knows where we are it's red welts that last 3 days! 3 days!"
    Jerome rubbed his head where I had accidentally-on-purpose slammed his head into the tree. I picked up my binoculars and looked back.
    I hissed and grabbed the collar of his shirt. I slammed his face into the binoculars.
    "Where is she?"
    I growled in his ear. Jerome went white, as he should have been from the start, and started shaking.
    "No fair."
    He moaned. I grabbed the binoculars from him and peered through. His big fat head, unfortunately, got caught in the loop of the binocular strings, and he came down with me.
    But not before I saw my sister standing with her whole kindergarden class, each holding tightly strung hair ties ready to be whipped.
    I looked up into the face of Mary, my sister.
    "No way, Emma. I don't take prisoners."
    I yelped and stood up. Jerome's head was still stuck in the binocular string, so I grabbed it and towed his head after me as I raced across the backyard.
    I opened up the back door flung Jerome inside and locked the door. I slumped down next to him.
    "You're an idiot."
    I said as I let out a breath of relief.
    "Not quite."
    I looked over at him. Then looked to where he was staring. Mary and her army had us surrounded. I gaped at her.
    "How. . ."
    I stuttered. Mary shrugged.
    "You left the front door open."
    Then she pulled the hair tie taught, then loose and the last thing I felt was a gaint welt growing.