The Day I Shot Ten Men

Rain was predicted for Saturday. This was a gripping disappointment for all those chained to classrooms or desks throughout the daylight hours of the week. Saturday is a day of freedom, a short break from the interned work week sentence.

Every weekend, it seems, the doomsday weathermen gleefully foresee rain and gloom, informing us that our original weekend plans must be abandoned. Then on Monday, they search for the large, laminated cardboard suns to spread across the darkness of our indoor weeks. So, again, inimically dark rain clouds were pasted to Saturday.

But they were wrong. Over night, while I was snuggled under my down comforter, rain storms flew lightly through the city, clearing skies for the morning. A Crayola blue reigned in the heavens by lunch time. And so our weekend plans went forward. Paint ball.

“Paint ball?” others asked. “Did you play inside?”

“No,” we answered. “It was in the woods.”

“Korea has woods?”

Just north of Busan, about fifteen minutes from my apartment, we dressed in full war gear, including army fatigues, a "bullet-proof" vest, a sturdy helmet, and gardening gloves (naturally!). The "we" to whom I am referring are a number of friends from church as well as students of theirs and other friends. With smiles and promises of murdering our dear friends, we squared off into two opposing teams. My team included the only two who had experience playing before, though we were taunted by the black team for our red helmets. "They'll be really hard to spot," was the jokingly sarcastic suggestion.

This was a first for me, apart from messing around with the game at camp. But this was a real game, the setting complete with trees, dirt, hills, and even, somewhat ominously, a few graves. My team, allow me to brag, was awesome. Of the five games that we played, two were a draw and three we won outright. All of us immediately dove into the spirit of it, throwing ourselves to the ground in true war-ready fashion. Two teams filled once with friends became enemies, North and South turning on one another.

My first time shooting someone was almost as fun as my first time being shot. I had snuck across the other team's territory, closely on the heels of Nathan, when I spotted Sacha, a very serious enemy of mine, guarding their flag. Using my exceptional assasin skills, I took her out. But our thirty pound helmets with their two percent visibility at times made it difficult to realize we were hit. So she kept shooting. Rather indignantly, I stood up and proclaimed, "Hey, I just shot you!" That's when I took it in the hip from another member of her team. Oops. The sting was intense, like if a bully had pulled a thick rubber band, then let it snap on your exposed skin. But I have some spectacular bruises to show for it. So being hit wasn't a total loss.

At the completion of the game, ended prematurely by our impatient referee, we emerged resembling the intial stages of a Jackson Pollock painting. It was such great fun, we have already planned our next outing. I'm hoping to up my body count significantly this time. Who knew that shooting your friends could be so much fun! I included a few intimidating pictures on my flickr account (side bar). Please note the one where three of us women hold three of the men as hostages. I'm quite proud of it.