pbhippie ben
12-12-2003, 11:39 AM
Whenever i get a chance in school i write about paintball. We had to do a memoir so this is it.
Paintball
My stomach bubbled with worry as the game started. The whistle blew and I ran as fast as I could to the nearest bunker. My hopper bounced up and down, and balls whizzed over my head. I ducked down behind the bunker in fright. I could not believe it, I was finally playing paintball!!
My dad was calling for me to move up. I was too scared to move up because I knew the second I stepped into the open; I would be pummeled with balls. Not soft balls either. Small, round, hard, balls that left marks on your skin. “Go! Go! Go!” my dad screamed, as he lay down cover fire.
“I can’t!” I retorted. “I’ll get killed!” Now, I was getting annoyed at my dad’s ignorance of the balls flying at us. What would happen if I got hit? Would it sting a lot?
“Come on Ben!” Connor, my good friend, yelled over the sound of markers firing. Finally, I mustered up enough courage to run up to the middle bunker. It was a long, low, snake bunker that ran down the middle of the small indoor field. It did not provide much cover at all. I ran at full speed to the bunker. Then I made a superman dive right into it. Crash! Straight into the inflatable bunker, marker first, then all of my body. I made it to the bunker! Yes!
I started crawling towards the end of the snake. Paintballs raining down on me, curving like a colorful waterfall, a painful waterfall. My heart was beating up in my throat. I was scared and I needed some help in the middle. Right as I turn my head to call for Connor to help, I see him get a stomach full of paint.
One hit his mask, breaking on it. When it did, blue paint sprayed everywhere. Three more hit him in his stomach, one did not break, but bounced off, rolled and stopped. The other two broke on his sweatshirt leaving two blue patches. He cried out in pain, “I’m out!” Connor raised his hand and black, long, rental Tippmann 98 Custom marker and yelled “Hit! I’m out!!” More balls flew at him as he ran off of the field.
Now I was truly scared. What if the same thing happened to me? I did not want to get hit that many times. I was also pissed that someone shot my friend that many times. They knew he had been hit!
Then I realized that I was still crawling down the snake and that I still needed some help. So I looked for my friend, Jackson, to come and help. Then I realized, he too, had met the same fate as Connor had. He was sitting in the dead box. I hope I’m not next, I thought to myself.
It was only my dad, Brendan, and I left. We had not marked anyone on the other team…yet. “Brendan, come help me up here!” I screamed at him as a ball whizzed by my face.
“Alright!” he called back. “Lay down some cover fire for me. Will ya?”
“Sure!” I popped up and started firing like mad across the field. Brendan ran, and then slid right into the bunker.
As soon as Brendan was behind the bunker I ducked back down and stopped firing. It was strange though; there was no output fire, just a lot of incoming fire. My dad must have been hit. “Uh, Oh!” I mumbled.
Balls rained down on our inflated yellow bunker making a steady bouncing sound. It scared me. My dad had been hit, they would move in on us soon! It was five on two, the odds were against us. Most people on the other team had played before and they had pretty good markers. We had bone stock, rental Tippmann 98 Customs.
The balls kept on raining down on us. Something had to be done. “Brendan, I’m going to start firing. Help me out,” I whispered at him. “Okey-Dokey,” he replied. We both got up and started firing. Balls flew by my face. One ball skimmed my head, but luckily the ball did not break.
I got cocky and started to stand up. As I started to get up, a ball hit my arm. It hurt like hell. My arm stung. Splash! Another ball hit my goggle lens, making a big round blue mark. I put my hand and marker up in the air. “Hit! Don’t shoot!” I shouted as I ran off of the field.
Balls flew at me when I was running off of the field. A few hit my back, but they bounced off. Why are they still shooting? I was already hit, I thought angrily.
Finally, I was off of the field and safe. I stuck the barrel plug into the barrel and pushed the safety in so the marker would not shoot.
I will never forget what it felt like to play paintball…the rush, the adrenaline, the pain. I loved it!
Paintball
My stomach bubbled with worry as the game started. The whistle blew and I ran as fast as I could to the nearest bunker. My hopper bounced up and down, and balls whizzed over my head. I ducked down behind the bunker in fright. I could not believe it, I was finally playing paintball!!
My dad was calling for me to move up. I was too scared to move up because I knew the second I stepped into the open; I would be pummeled with balls. Not soft balls either. Small, round, hard, balls that left marks on your skin. “Go! Go! Go!” my dad screamed, as he lay down cover fire.
“I can’t!” I retorted. “I’ll get killed!” Now, I was getting annoyed at my dad’s ignorance of the balls flying at us. What would happen if I got hit? Would it sting a lot?
“Come on Ben!” Connor, my good friend, yelled over the sound of markers firing. Finally, I mustered up enough courage to run up to the middle bunker. It was a long, low, snake bunker that ran down the middle of the small indoor field. It did not provide much cover at all. I ran at full speed to the bunker. Then I made a superman dive right into it. Crash! Straight into the inflatable bunker, marker first, then all of my body. I made it to the bunker! Yes!
I started crawling towards the end of the snake. Paintballs raining down on me, curving like a colorful waterfall, a painful waterfall. My heart was beating up in my throat. I was scared and I needed some help in the middle. Right as I turn my head to call for Connor to help, I see him get a stomach full of paint.
One hit his mask, breaking on it. When it did, blue paint sprayed everywhere. Three more hit him in his stomach, one did not break, but bounced off, rolled and stopped. The other two broke on his sweatshirt leaving two blue patches. He cried out in pain, “I’m out!” Connor raised his hand and black, long, rental Tippmann 98 Custom marker and yelled “Hit! I’m out!!” More balls flew at him as he ran off of the field.
Now I was truly scared. What if the same thing happened to me? I did not want to get hit that many times. I was also pissed that someone shot my friend that many times. They knew he had been hit!
Then I realized that I was still crawling down the snake and that I still needed some help. So I looked for my friend, Jackson, to come and help. Then I realized, he too, had met the same fate as Connor had. He was sitting in the dead box. I hope I’m not next, I thought to myself.
It was only my dad, Brendan, and I left. We had not marked anyone on the other team…yet. “Brendan, come help me up here!” I screamed at him as a ball whizzed by my face.
“Alright!” he called back. “Lay down some cover fire for me. Will ya?”
“Sure!” I popped up and started firing like mad across the field. Brendan ran, and then slid right into the bunker.
As soon as Brendan was behind the bunker I ducked back down and stopped firing. It was strange though; there was no output fire, just a lot of incoming fire. My dad must have been hit. “Uh, Oh!” I mumbled.
Balls rained down on our inflated yellow bunker making a steady bouncing sound. It scared me. My dad had been hit, they would move in on us soon! It was five on two, the odds were against us. Most people on the other team had played before and they had pretty good markers. We had bone stock, rental Tippmann 98 Customs.
The balls kept on raining down on us. Something had to be done. “Brendan, I’m going to start firing. Help me out,” I whispered at him. “Okey-Dokey,” he replied. We both got up and started firing. Balls flew by my face. One ball skimmed my head, but luckily the ball did not break.
I got cocky and started to stand up. As I started to get up, a ball hit my arm. It hurt like hell. My arm stung. Splash! Another ball hit my goggle lens, making a big round blue mark. I put my hand and marker up in the air. “Hit! Don’t shoot!” I shouted as I ran off of the field.
Balls flew at me when I was running off of the field. A few hit my back, but they bounced off. Why are they still shooting? I was already hit, I thought angrily.
Finally, I was off of the field and safe. I stuck the barrel plug into the barrel and pushed the safety in so the marker would not shoot.
I will never forget what it felt like to play paintball…the rush, the adrenaline, the pain. I loved it!