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.
SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK!
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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