Colored Collisions

NOVEMBER 10, 2012: Went paintballing for the first time.

That will be a memorable day. Sure it wasn't as thrilling as I had hyped it up to be, and it didn't exactly match up with the images of "Matrix-style" dodges and sniper-type marksmanship that I had conjured up, but it was good fun nonetheless. My friends and I all got a healthy dosage of pain and exhilaration with a few bloody skin breakages and nasty welts. There was the sense of accomplishment and joy from hitting someone dead on their chest, the excitement from going "Rambo," dramatically sliding behind cover and madly taking on a group of armed gunners, and the disorientation of being on the receiving end of a clean shot to the face.
 Bullets were flying everywhere and as soon as I would feel safely sheltered, a gooey explosion of neon green would splatter across my mask, penetrating the air holes and coating my face with the dyed sucrose (a not-so-tasty experience). All in all it was a wonderful day of inflicting and receiving suffering to dear friends and strangers alike. With each game came fantastical tales of glorious battle and boasts of spectacular feats.

"Let boys be boys," they'd say, but there were none more vicious than the giggling girls blasting away with menacing laughter, and sending a steady stream of pain to anyone in their way. They matched the ferocity of many of the guys there, uninhibited by any form of mercy or sympathy. I will forever be scarred by the pain of two of the sweetest, kindest church-girls I've ever known unleash a fury of pellets onto my exposed back. Never will I forget.