Tuesday, April 06, 2004

My Own Friendly Fire Incident

I hefted my rifle and pointed it into the thick woods ahead of me. Shane and I were on a hunt. He was out there. Our last opponent.

Two of our teammates took the left. We took the right. Hiding in the brush behind a log was our quarry. Shane held him in position while I crept around to his side. Once set, I opened fire. He jumped up, shot Shane twice and ran as I kept shooting in front of him, over him and behind him. But not one of those damned paintballs hit him.


The stinging in my back made me stop shooting. I turned around to see my own teammates, happy they took out our target. Or so they thought.

"Sorry man." They said.

Thanks to the welts and bruises, I spend the rest of the night looking like I was in a proper posture ad. And I couldn't sit without wincing.

And to think, I paid to do this Saturday.

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