I can do this, let's go. These thoughts in my head made me feel like a 007 agent on one of his intriguing missions. My seven friends and I were in a paintball field for the first time. Divided into two teams, everyone set into their places, waiting for that whistle to blow and the game to begin. My heart, racing, beating so hard and so loud I could feel it pouncing against my fingertips touching the paintball gun I held in my hands. This was my first time ever in a paintball field and I felt like a mouse lost in a maze, who was a bit scared but willing to explore. The whistle blew, the game had begun. In order to win, we had to run into the middle of the field, get a flag and come back without being shot, all that before the other team. I was sitting behind a wall, and as soon as I heard that whistle, I felt the adrenaline shoot into my blood and my body switched into my 007 agent mode. I turned around and leaned a little over to see my view and if it was clear to attempt a good shot. "PUFT" The first gunshot, and it wasn't mine. I quickly go back to my safe spot behind the wall. Did it hit someone? Does this hurt? All I could think of now was how much one of those little balls of paint, travelling I don't know at how many kilometers per hour hurt. And oh boy, I wished I …show more content…
Once again I peek to the side of the wall and prepare to take my first shot. I spot someone from the other team. I aim very carefully... And at that point I thought I had it nailed down, that I would shoot and it would hit whoever that person was and I would finally find out the answer to the question that was banging inside my head from the moment the game begun. How much does this hurt? I shot, "PUFT". "Damn it, I missed..." It was pretty clear I needed more practice, so I aimed once again and "PUFT". Missed again. When was one little paintball going to hit someone? I urged to know how much it
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).
I was sitting in the old rickety chair that looked as if it had been there for five years. The smell of gunpowder hung in the morning air as I leaned over the rifle rest. My finger wrapped around the trigger as my eye focused through the scope of my grandfather’s Springfield ’03. I took a deep breath and let half out. My finger tightened on the trigger as I awaited the recoil and crack of the gunpowder igniting. Finally, when my finger’s pull was enough to move the trigger, the gun went off. Moments like this are why I love shooting guns.
Basketball is a big part of my life, one year ago in tournament final game two of our best players were hurt and the team was relying on me. With the time winding down on the clock we were down 8 points. Somehow I got our deficit down to two points with 30 seconds left, after an intense defensive stop 10 seconds remained on the clock; our coach called a timeout. A play was drawn up for me to take the shot. Mitchell inbounded the ball to me as I came off of a screen, I had an some-what wide open shot, I took the shot, you could hear the crowd go silent as the ball left my hand and headed towards the basketball. It felt like everything was going slow motion, the ball was getting closer and closer to the hoop and I…….missed it. The buzzer sounded
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.
Sports play a very important role in my life ever since I could walk. My interests in playing sports began at the age of three as my parents signed me up for soccer, flag football, basketball, and lacrosse. First grade started my competitive edge as I began to play for travel teams in various sport tournaments. This competitive edge transferred from the sports field to the classroom having teachers and coaches helping me be the best I can be. Sports have continually well-shaped and defined my character by teaching me how to accept a win from working hard, also how a loss is an opportunity to learn and fix mistakes.
When it was my turn to shoot I felt the rough texture of my gun as I lifted it up. Looking down the barrell and steadying it out, taking a deep breath in. Then I yelled pull as I observed and followed the orange clay target that flew up in the sky. I squeezed the trigger when I was right in front of the clay target hearing the loud bang go off. As the shot went off the shell had sent many soaring pellets into the air. The target had shattered in a thousand small pieces as though its life had just ended. I lowered the gun and smelled all the smoke that had been released. At that point I realised that ear plugs were as needed as much as oxygen was.
The day finally came to board the plane. I was feeling nauseous and had a steady flow of adrenaline rushing through my body. The thought of being shot at, or even worse being taken as a prisoner of war was weighing heavily on my mind. I fought my mind
Lacrosse, the sport I have been playing since 4th grade, is my most beloved activity and I play almost every single day. I remember the first day my dad took me to my first camp. I was nervous and craven because I had no idea what I was doing, also it didn't help that I didn’t know anyone there. After the first couple of day’s I started to understand the sport and its rules. On the last day of camp, one of the coaches came up to me and said “You became used to the way you are supposed to handle the stick really quickly. You should continue to play and you will become really good.” When he said this, I started to work hard with hours of training, commitment and dedication. After a couple of months of training, I tried out for my local club
I turned to my gun and began to reload. Before I even had a chance to think, I heard the deafening sound of a sniper rifle. I glanced back at Henry. I see him fall back. I frantically scampered over to him; the front of his face was completely obliterated; blood gushed out from his
Kane turned around to face me as he put his jacket on. Well, I was heading over to the gun range. Would you like to join me? I was surprised when I said. A gun ranges. What do you need with guns? He started to laugh. They kind of come in handy when you’re on the road by yourself. I like to have one just in case. He walked over to the sink in the corner and turned the water on to wash his hands. Are you telling me that you don’t have a gun? I quickly laughed. No. I do know how to shoot one. For me there is no reason for me to own one. At that second, I thought to myself that even when I worked at the jail, I didn’t own one then either. There was no towel by the sink so when Kane was finished washing his hands he started to wave his hands in the air. Noticing
I love to shoot guns. My family has a lot of guns invested in them. I don’t use them to kill animals. I shoot for fun only. I could never kill an animal for no reason. There is really no reason. I set up targets of people at my property and just blaze away. Sometimes I might go to my friends house and go shooting out in the woods. It’s a fun sport. I enjoy it a lot.
Smoke drifted out of the barrel as if it had just been fired. I didn't want to keep moving across the room because I knew what awaited me, but I had no control over where my subconscious spirit lead me. So I drifted to the other side of the bed where the body of an older man lay bullet wound in his skull with blood and brain splatter everywhere. I know that the gun being on the bed makes no sense because a living person would have had to set it there, but I was never there in the real world while his body was still there so this is just how my mind has manifested this memory.
Reality sinks in as the first shots ring clear through the air, penetrating the obscurity
I rip out my pistol from my pocket and a woman in front of me. Bang! She drops to the floor. A second shot fired but not from my gun. I look down at my stomach and blood is seeping. A blood curtailing screams comes from the crowd and they
To begin with, the career for me is to become a professional paintball player i want to become a pro because it make you alert of your surroundings and my parents won't put me in any sports and they let me go paint balling and ever since i was younger i was an active kid i would always get hurt but the first time i went paint balling i was 10 and i went with my dad friends and there little brother when we got there they asked me if i wanted a chest protector and i said no i fell like it won't hurt when i get shot the only bad thing back then i didn't have a good gun so i didn't shoot fast but at then end of the day i liked it and i knew that i wanted to become a professional paint baller i wanted to come every weekend but i didn't