"A Misleadingly Exciting Retelling of Events" by Omar S

       It was an early morning in the soon to be blazing sun of Perris, California in summer of
2017. It was a special occasion, not as special as birthday or holiday, but more special than those holidays no one really understands like Labor Day or National Doughnut Day. It was an event I’d participated in a half or dozen times or so, It was the day my uncle and I went to play paintball, but today was different. Unlike the other times where there’d be dozens of people on both sides and we’d use trees, dilapidated vehicles, and poorly built structures that weren’t really buildings, today we were on an airball field. A field covered in inflatable bunkers that were caked in paint, 40 yards wide and 50 yards long where only ten people would compete to see who were the better five. Today was my debut on one of these fields as it was the weekly walk-on day for those who weren’t apart of a team and I was excited, but there was a catch, there was too many people for perfect teams of five and my uncle pulled the short straw, so he would sit out for this one. Four people who I’d never met, but seemed far more experienced than me and I walked past the net separating the field from the spectators towards the starting bunker. 

     We lined up next to the starting bunker, the barrels of our markers against it as the most robotic timer I’d ever heard began counting down from ten. I looked to my right as I was at the far left and saw four others, seemingly far more experienced than I, and across the field I imagined the same sight but with five experienced players instead of four. The final three second

seemed to slow to a halt in my head and the sound of the countdown became overpowered by that of my heartbeat and breathing, but through them I heard the muffled timer say the number that I could no longer tell if I was excitedly waiting for or possibly now dreaded to hear, one. As the ref’s starting whistle blasted through the muffled air, time unpaused and the world regained its sounds. The next one or two seconds would redefine the words hectic and crazed to me. The moment I heard the whistle I began sprinting for my life as the world was drowned out once again, but this time by the sounds of nine others firing their markers at 10.5 paintballs per second, recaking the bunkers in a neon yellow paint, and frantically yelling to one another every bit of information they could possibly process. Somewhere in that ≈40 yard sprint for my life to my designated bunker, I began hearing the sound of tiny .69 caliber projectiles coming at me at 200mph and I became terrified. In the last ≈3 yards I made the frantic decision to dive for the safety of the bunker and I barely made it. Now behind my bunker, I was introduced to a new horrid sound that was paintballs hitting mere inches away from me at the other end of my own personal fortress. The bunker seemed to scream in agony as I watched a neon yellow spray accumulate in front of me as paintballs splattered on the bunker. For the next few seconds, I heard nothing but the constant droning of 10.5 paintballs hitting my bunker every second, until for seemingly no reason, the overpowering screech of the paintball and their neon mist dissipated. “Someone must of got him.” I thought to myself as I slowly peaked my head out from behind my bunker to see three others from my team still firing back at the enemy, but in the middle of my vision I saw one thing and time slowed back down to a halt. A single paintball flying my direction, but I was incapable of moving as it inched ever closer to me, yet I was still powerless. Now inches from my face, I could see every detail of that paintball, from the large

Empire branding, to the tiny and nearly invisible seam, but alas its destination was certain and knew it too. A moment later, the neon yellow fill bursted on the lens of my mask blinding me as the fill seemed black as no light could enter my mask. I quickly wiped off the lens of the mask and turned around to walk to the side of the field to indicate that I was out. 

     Now I would like to take a moment to retell that series of events, but without the artistic flair for a more realistic account of those events. When I heard the starting whistle, I sprinted to the bunker at the furthest left corner of the field where I waited for about ten seconds as my bunker was pelted with paintballs. I then peaked out at what I believed was my opportune time and I was subsequently hit and got out. Regardless, it was one of the greatest experiences of my life and paintball is uncontestedly my favorite past time. What was seemingly a boring series of events was truthfully the introductions to one of my passions and I remember that as I walked off the field, I exclaimed to my uncle, “That was incredible,” and “I want to do that again.” So while it was seemingly incredibly uneventful and boring, I wouldn’t wish that it happened any other way.