Every fortnight I was faced with the taunting experience of retrieving the eggs and every fortnight the task became more and more daring. Each morning at Nonis (grandmother) house a war between the chickens and I emerged from the normally silent yard, a war that separated all good from the world and emphasized death, destruction and danger. Every morning at Nonis house the boy that I was turned into a manly structure, ready for battle.
             The sun beamed through the old wooden shutters as the light splashed across his dormant eyes, beckoning him to awaken and absorb the early morning warmth. Each ray of light produced a comforting sensation persuading the boy to emerge from his overnight coma and venture out beneath the newborn sun.
             The warmth soon turned to a chill as a noise from the far corner of the backyard seized everything that was pleasant. The chicken sounds were calling him, reminding him of his duty.....tempting him. Awakening very slowly the boy began to prepare himself for battle, just the way his grandfather had told of his experiences. The boy began to prepare himself both physically and mentall, knowing that one mistake could be the difference between failure and success. The young boy was ready and the beast that lived inside of him was to be exposed to a morning of frightful duties. The young boy was now the beast and the beast was the young boy and with the two minds combined a war was about to begin.
             He marched with enormous confidence until he reached the large back door that was the gateway to either treasures or torment. A fear inside him was released as he opened the door and proceeded with his mission to recover the prized treasure. He had all senses alert and functioning, ready for any enemy attack from the large, distrustful chickens. His knees and elbows slid along the wet dew of the morning grass like a snake carefully maneuvering its body, hiding from any danger. In front of him was a large cluster of ...