I remember being packaged. In a plastic bag, packed with all the other paintballs just like me, I was shoved in a cardboard box and shipped off to a remote location, where I waited. And waited. For months...until one day, my box was thrown violently onto a table, ripped open, and my plastic bag pulled out. After adjusting to the sudden rush of light, I realized I was being lifted into the air by something large and magical (which strongly resembled my hand, just much larger...). I completely lost it. I began rolling from side to side, trying to escape my captor, but to no avail; there was no way I could pass through the bag, and that seemed to be the only way I could escape. After several more long moments, my bag was brought into another room, and tossed onto another table. I forced myself to calm down, and took in my surroundings. There was a large man shouting in a room full of early-teenage boys, which I found odd. On further investigation, I realized that …show more content…
After a moment, the voice of the large man rang throughout a one mile radius, making it known the “match” (“what match?”, I thought) was about to begin. “Barrel sleeves off”, he continued. At this point, a piercing light shot down the barrel and stabbed my eyes. I thought I’d never see again...I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be able to see anymore. “Ready...BEGIN!”, the large man’s voice boomed. “Again with the careless tossing?!”, I thought, enraged, as the carrier of the paintball gun began sprinting...somewhere. I still couldn’t see. Every so often, I heard a loud “BANG” noise, and I heard one of my fellow captors yell “AHHHH!”. That didn’t exactly increase my morale. With my vision slowly returning, I began noticing the line of paintballs ahead of me was rapidly diminishing. I had to think of a way out! It was now or never! Do or die! And
I shrieked at them, trying to scare them off, but they merely ducked behind bushes and took long sticks from the saddles of their horses, bows and javelins. … I'd never howled more loudly in my life. Darts like hot coals went through my legs and arms and I howled more loudly still. (27)
Richard Connell, the author, does an incredible job of portraying the insane, however experienced hunter, General Zaroff as a man who hunts man for fun. The portrayal of a sophisticated, educated, cultured man with psychopathic tendencies was evident in many different instances. Interesting enough, I discovered that paintballing was actually inspired in part by the short story “The Most Dangerous Game” (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Most_Dangerous_Game), which leaves us to think “Man is the cruelest animal.” (Friedrich Nietzsche).
Quickly, I make my way to the waiting Blackhawk helicopter. Even with my full combat load strapped to my back the rotor wash threatens to push me over. My face is pelted with grass and other debris; motivation and determination makes me run harder. As I reach the Blackhawk the Black-shirt directs me to one of four repel lines anchored to the aircraft. I wrap the line through my d-ring and climb into the cabin. I wait, crouched in the doorway, for my three other comrades to finish their hookup. The Black-shirt completes his check of our hookups and gives the pilot the thumbs-up. Abruptly, the helicopter lifts into the air leaving my stomach somewhere below.
My whole being tensed and I squeezed my hand around the revolver. The trigger gave; I felt the smooth underside of the butt; and there, in that noise, sharp and deafening at the same time, is where it all started. I shook off the sweat and sun. I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I’d been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace” (Camus 59).
Wind howling, heavy breathing, spikes clicking on the ground, coach’s yelling. The most intense race of the season. The wind was very powerful for this course on the Tell City Country Club through these enormous green hills of the golf course. Dead grass and brown leaves were blowing nonstop. All nine of the schools slowly started walking up to the starting line. Everyone was looking at each other while representing their own school with showing their school color off with pride. There were three teams total that knew that would be an extremely close score. My team and I stood in our red jerseys knowing that we were going to be the ones to win. I could feel the jitters going through my body. Boom!(personification) The gun went off. Nothing
Gunshots, Fire, bombs, all flying in the sky. Men in uniform are scattering for shelter. It seemed all to simple for General Grant, “Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike at him as hard as you can and as often as you can, and keep moving on.”
Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.
“We are under attack!” Jimmy, our patrol man, yells leaping for the trench. A bullet pierces his skull before hits the ground leaving his body lifeless and bloody at my feet.
I was scared, petrified. I was in a sea full of predators, hiding behind a miniature crate. I squeezed my hat to my chest, my only source of protection, my only comfort. My shotgun disappeared in the heat of battle, I couldn’t even recall when it happened. The only images in my mind were the ones of Spy, when I witnessed his last moments of life. The only sounds I could hear,
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
Nothing could be worst than your dad bringing up "THE CONVERSATION." Starting at age 5 I loved playing soccer,running up and down the field, making moves and kicking balls to the back of the net was always the way to go. Soccer meant the world to me and especially playing with my best friends since the day I started. My days would go something like this, go to school,get home,do homework then get ready and go to a beautiful fun day at soccer!After soccer I would go home sit on the couch and eat.I was a lazy one. That's why I hoped my dad would never ever bring up this conversation.... But he did anyways.
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
Starting with very visual stimuli, men bent over like old beggars carrying sacks, tired and numb from the experiences they have lived through. They are no longer men but just hollowed out shells of their former glory as they curse and cough through the mud until the "haunting flares" tell them it is time to head toward safety for rest. The flares are haunting because they give away their location with a soft glow as well as being a beacon hope for end shift. As they march, and dig and pull each leg from the mud to place it in front of the other, all men march in their sleep, others limp with bloody feet as they have lost their boots in the thick blood colored mud. All are lame and blind, extremely tired. They have become desensitized and deaf to the shells falling behind them. Then it gets worse. Just as the men are turning around headed to distant camp for the night, gas shells drop behind them blocking the way home. The speaker yells out like a commander “Gas! Gas! Quick, Boys!” The soldiers scramble for their gas masks in a frantic but awakening moment to save their lives. They don't all get their clumsy helmets on in time. Our speaker watches as a member of his crew chokes and staggers in the toxic fumes, unable to save him from an excruciating certain death. Even through the thick glass eyelets of the helmet and the fog of gas he can see the young man drowning in vomit bile and
Buzz, buzz, buzz, the alarm clock sounded off again, trying to get my attention. Awaking from a deep sleep, I remembered that today I would learn about shooting an M-16 rifle. I arose quickly, not wanting to be late, dressed hurriedly in my camouflage utilities and raced out of the door to my car. I could not get to the rifle range fast enough. As I was driving, my thoughts raced and my stomach turned as I wondered if I would be able to hit the target. Would the rifle be too heavy? Would I pass the test? Round and round my thoughts whirled the entire drive.
You would think that having four jobs in the family would be able to support the three of us, but apparently not. As I see my sister enter the surgical facility, I contemplate all that we have lost this last week to save her life. It cost me my two hands and a leg. And my mom, well, her forest green eyes are now in some rich guys head. It's still a little unsettling seeing her with two red spheres in her eye sockets, instead of the shade that always reminded me of the first days of spring. My mom already sold her heart last year when we were far behind on rent. She claims she couldn’t even feel the plastic. At least if she avoids mirrors she can pretend not to be a Fake.