During my last paintball encounter I devastated my opponents. We play at a field with barrels, blockades and sniper towers hidden in between the crooks of tree branches. My five friends and I play three on three. I have paintball supplies that include a paint ball gun that shoots 15 shots per second, and a sniper scope. I put the latter to use frequently during that game.
My buddies ran in circles trying to capture the flag, while I, stationed high above in the quietude of an oak, like a darkling thrush biding its time before winter comes, waited. The first shot of mine landed right on the mask of my best friend, who I was playing against. It surprised him so that his paint ball gun shot out a few rounds when it hit.
My next victim was lurking close to our flag, and in fact, was playing quite well. But I, waiting like a master, allowed him to think that he actually had a chance. He crept closer and closer to our flag, and just as he was making his final approach, I snagged him right on the chest. Stunned, he screamed in pain and anger.
I knew it was time. With just one player left, I easily made the approach and won the game for my team. No problem.
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