This wasn't entirely how I pictured my last day in New Zealand to go, but here I was.
Crouched over in the bushes. Hiding from security. Behind the set of the fucking Hobbit.
I cursed at myself for getting into this mess. I was way too impressionable, it was going to get me killed one day. Stupid friends 'leaving' their phones on the set. I didn't want to visit the set in the first place, I've never even seen The Hobbit! I mean, yeah, the set was lovely (it was pretty cool how it was an actual area and not just built up on a stage), but the tour was just so bloody boring. Apparently, though, not boring enough for some people; my friends became so enthralled with the tour they managed to lose most of their stuff. Car keys, wallets, you name it – they lost it.
That was one of the reasons I was currently hiding from security. My idiot friend, Rob, had forgotten his phone, which just so happened to have all the contact details of the
people that were supposed to collect us to take us back to the airport. We were meant to call them with our current camp location, and they would pick us up and we could return home. I had no clue why no one else bothered to save the number (mostly because I travelled with a bunch of hippie idiots) but, of course, I had to be the one to go and retrieve the phone. Apparently it was because I was 'quick witted and persuasive'. Total bullshit but hey, they managed to convince me didn't they?
The only reason I was in my current predicament was because our plane left tomorrow morning. Like, as in four hours from now. It would take at least two to get to the airport, and I doubted security would open the set just to let me look for a phone. So of course, like any sane person would, I jumped the fence to the set and went about retracing my friend's steps.
I fucking hate myself. And my stupid ass 'friends'.
A torch shone directly on my face and I squeaked, jumping up from my current crouching position and sprinting around the back of some odd house that was built into the hill. I couldn't care less about who was supposed to 'live' here (Bibo or something? Rob was adamant about teaching me but I really didn't give two shits) as I literally felt the two security guards thumping across the ground behind me. They were calling out for me to stop quite angrily, and I tried to keep my face hidden as I whipped around to run on top of the hill-house. It was quite a feat really, what with the bulging backpack attached to my back and thumping up and down with every step I took. The weight of the backpack almost toppled me over the edge of the roof. To be fair, it wasn't that far of a drop…Just the landing could go awfully and you could easily snap an ankle or two. I don't think the guards would dare try this jump, especially considering their age. Poor guys had to be in their mid-forties, I felt a little bad for them; chasing a twenty-something year old around a quiet village set must not have been the highlight of their lives.
"Hey, you there! Stop!" One called, making a mad dash towards me. I grimaced as I weighed my options. Stay and get arrested, jump maybe six or seven feet and get the fuck out of dodge. I chose the second option, trying to figure out how to fall properly before I actually hit the ground.
My previous statement of them not making the jump was correct. I watched them stand stock still halfway up the hill as I jumped down, prepared for my feet to come into contact with the grassy-cobble turf.
Unfortunately, it was my head that hit the ground first.
Hey guys!
Just a quick little intro to the story, before we dive into the main thing;;;