Buffalo Springfield

Well. I continue the unfortunate saga of things which make mom and dad nervous. At least I wore goggles.

War. Cutthroat. Who trusts who. I found myself in the heat of battle as man in striped white and black, a metaphor almost for this world with no gray (except of course for my roommate). My brothers stand next to me, panting. We sweat and eye the enemy at the opposite end of the warehouse.

"Flank right!"our squad leader Mike Wilson yells. I slide on the slick green floors behind an inflatable pyramid and check my hopper, a good fourteen shots left. Ahead, I see the man in white taking aim at my comrade-in-arms and compagnon de chambre, Gray. I take aim: the first shot lazily barrels to the left of the man in white, the second sails over his head, my mask fogs up as the pressure builds and take aim once more, a hit! A glorious hit to the man's elbow, sending shards of plastic and spraying green on the wall in slow-motion.

"Clear!" I scream to my friend. Suddenly, like raindrops on a tent in a storm, my pillar of air-blown vinyl is showered. "Thwap! Thwap!" I cower in fear. No man should have to bear the tragedies of war uninvited. As such, a lean out to survey the situation. From the zipper on the floor there's a nameless soldier in camouflage, maybe 20 years old. A soldier who should be worrying about who he's going to take out Saturday night, not about who he's going to take out on the battlefield. Unfortunately, what I don't see is the ballistic with my name on it, fired by one of his mates.

A resounding "Pow!" as my knee is showered in green paint, certain to leave a welt. I'm hit once, twice. I slip on the floor, covered in the paint from those who had fallen before me and in anguish raise my gun, "Winchester", high above my head.

I stagger to my feet, an angel rising above the battle, ignored as I make my way through the crossfire. There's Spencer, my good friend Calvin. Are they destined to be fodder as well? I cap Winchester and exit through the netting to the waiting area, remove my mask and join the others struck down in battle at a table to await the next round.

Tonight, I became a man. Perhaps I'll undergo the same transformation next Wednesday as well.