Paintball
it's that time again. you can only go for so long without playing paintball. i guess it's just one of those summer things, like lemonade, or swimming. except really, it's all year. anyway, my good buddy sam clinch is turning 20 tomorrow. WOOHOO!!! so we headed down to swift and silent to celebrate like real men. i mean, what's closer to a fella's heart than tromping around in the woods, sweating like a pig in a sauna, and shooting each other?
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the aggressors mount the ridge of the oak-crested hill, their hunched, furtive sillouettes sharply outlined against the blazing sun. quickly they scurry for cover, pressing their bodies against the solid rough trunks of the oaks. furrowed brows, channeled with salty rivulets, squint down at the town below. then past the ring of imposing metal bunkers, bristling with enemy armament, to a sand-bag entrenchment with a flag pole, securely located "downtown." as the wind catches the colors and ripples them in the breeze, the squinting brown eye narrows still more, and the furrows deepen, then turn away - to business. a few muttered words pass between the two watchmen on the hill, and soon they part and begin once again to advance, this time down toward the city, and this time with determination in their steps. suddenly one slips to the side and dissappears into the forest, the other runs madly down the left flank and flings himself into a sheltered embankment. rising slowly and glancing throught slats of his shelter, he sees the city still silent. apparently his sudden charge forward has gone unoticed. or are they simply waiting to lure him in? then the brown eye turns to the forest. all is still silent there too. bringing his mind back to focus on the task at hand but still straining his ears for shots from the city or the woods he crawls out from behind cover. creeping foward he draws ever nearer the city, it's ghoulish black windows staring back cold and uninviting. the rivulets on his brow have turned to streams, the tall grass and rough ground tear his arms, the ants bite him... but still he presses on. as he comes to the edge of the grass land, he parts the border of weeds and beholds the great menacing city before him, in all it's strength. once again the brown eye scans the nearby forest, and this time is encouraged by a slight movement, then a nod. turning his gaze back upon the city, taking it all in, he surveys his chances, his opportunities. by watching the movement behind the darkened windows, he discovers the position of the enemy, but always the center of his thoughts are on the flag. the prideful colors now snap spitefully in the breeze. then he tenses every muscle in his body... machine gun fire bursts open from the edge of the forest, and the hum of bullets in the air and projectiles ricocheting off the bunkers fills the air... then with a fiery light burning in his eyes, where before there was only bleary sweat, he launches himself against an enemy bunker! rapid fire continues out the fron entry toward the forest, so the brown eyes glance in the back window on the back of the furious defender. "hey you. surrender." he says quietly, tapping the shocked and terrified fellow on the shoulder. as the "company" from the woods advances into the open and closes in on the city, the brown eyes at last turn once again to the flapping colors. with a deep breath he runs accross the front lines deep into enemy territory and seizes the flag and once again turns toward the blazing sun and flies with all his might to the shelter of the mighty oaks, pursued closely by shouts of victory, and not so closely by the ever dimishing roar of battle. entering the shady seclusion of the oaks, he throws himself on the ground. the fiery light turns to a sparkle of delight. with one last shout of exaltation he turns his tired steps toward home. ahhh victory... so sweet.
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okay, that's kinda the idea. and sam... happy birthday man. sorry i had to shoot you twenty times, but that's just the way it is at these parties. especially since you're too big for birthday spankings.
nebbish \NEB-ish\, noun:A weak-willed, timid, or ineffectual person.
You used to be a nebbish, a noodle, a fool, And now you're Mr. Big Time with your own private pool. --Maira Kalman, Max in Hollywood, Baby
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the aggressors mount the ridge of the oak-crested hill, their hunched, furtive sillouettes sharply outlined against the blazing sun. quickly they scurry for cover, pressing their bodies against the solid rough trunks of the oaks. furrowed brows, channeled with salty rivulets, squint down at the town below. then past the ring of imposing metal bunkers, bristling with enemy armament, to a sand-bag entrenchment with a flag pole, securely located "downtown." as the wind catches the colors and ripples them in the breeze, the squinting brown eye narrows still more, and the furrows deepen, then turn away - to business. a few muttered words pass between the two watchmen on the hill, and soon they part and begin once again to advance, this time down toward the city, and this time with determination in their steps. suddenly one slips to the side and dissappears into the forest, the other runs madly down the left flank and flings himself into a sheltered embankment. rising slowly and glancing throught slats of his shelter, he sees the city still silent. apparently his sudden charge forward has gone unoticed. or are they simply waiting to lure him in? then the brown eye turns to the forest. all is still silent there too. bringing his mind back to focus on the task at hand but still straining his ears for shots from the city or the woods he crawls out from behind cover. creeping foward he draws ever nearer the city, it's ghoulish black windows staring back cold and uninviting. the rivulets on his brow have turned to streams, the tall grass and rough ground tear his arms, the ants bite him... but still he presses on. as he comes to the edge of the grass land, he parts the border of weeds and beholds the great menacing city before him, in all it's strength. once again the brown eye scans the nearby forest, and this time is encouraged by a slight movement, then a nod. turning his gaze back upon the city, taking it all in, he surveys his chances, his opportunities. by watching the movement behind the darkened windows, he discovers the position of the enemy, but always the center of his thoughts are on the flag. the prideful colors now snap spitefully in the breeze. then he tenses every muscle in his body... machine gun fire bursts open from the edge of the forest, and the hum of bullets in the air and projectiles ricocheting off the bunkers fills the air... then with a fiery light burning in his eyes, where before there was only bleary sweat, he launches himself against an enemy bunker! rapid fire continues out the fron entry toward the forest, so the brown eyes glance in the back window on the back of the furious defender. "hey you. surrender." he says quietly, tapping the shocked and terrified fellow on the shoulder. as the "company" from the woods advances into the open and closes in on the city, the brown eyes at last turn once again to the flapping colors. with a deep breath he runs accross the front lines deep into enemy territory and seizes the flag and once again turns toward the blazing sun and flies with all his might to the shelter of the mighty oaks, pursued closely by shouts of victory, and not so closely by the ever dimishing roar of battle. entering the shady seclusion of the oaks, he throws himself on the ground. the fiery light turns to a sparkle of delight. with one last shout of exaltation he turns his tired steps toward home. ahhh victory... so sweet.
*************************************************
okay, that's kinda the idea. and sam... happy birthday man. sorry i had to shoot you twenty times, but that's just the way it is at these parties. especially since you're too big for birthday spankings.
nebbish \NEB-ish\, noun:A weak-willed, timid, or ineffectual person.
You used to be a nebbish, a noodle, a fool, And now you're Mr. Big Time with your own private pool. --Maira Kalman, Max in Hollywood, Baby
posted by quirky at 5:33 PM
3 Comments:
wow...you should become a writer, you've got something going there. sounds like you had fun though...i've never gone paintballing, but if your description is accurate, it sounds like it could be a worthwhile thing to try sometime. ok, that's all...keep up the story writing, it's a fun change of pace.
Dang... I still haven't paintballed either. How bad does it hurt from, oh, 6 feet away? And do people wear armor other than a face mask?
I'd prolly take one to the gut before we started, just for the experience. :D
I'm into speedball paintball so here's a link you might find useful as well: speedball paintball . Check it out! You won't be disappointed.
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