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Survival Game

The thousand-degree sand burned our toes as we walked. “You are going to want to save your shoes for later,” I said. Austin, Logan, Tom and I were walking out into the vast dune desert with a purpose. And that purpose: survive. We all had backpacks containing the following: a bottle of water, three granola bars, a pocket knife, an airsoft gun, and hammers, nails, screwdrivers, etc. Strapped to our backpacks we had blankets and other things used to sleeping. We were in a survival war with my brother, Christian, and his friend Paul.
We were heading to the Big Tree, a tree in which we planned to build a tree house. As far as I knew for Christian and Paul they were heading towards and old stone hut deeper in the woods. The woods were a big area of trees and things parted by the lake. When we reached the area where grass met sand, we all sat on the ground to rest our reddened feet. Austin set out to get some fire wood and Tom and Logan set up a small shelter big enough to stay in for an hour or so. After Austin had a fairly large stack of wood, we both set out to hunt food. We found nothing but rabbits and squirrels, but neither of us knew how to hunt one. We returned to the now-finished temporary campsite. It had a roaring fire with a small teepee-style hut made of sticks. We all took sips of water and chatted until about an hour and a half later. (Tom had a watch.) We destroyed the camp to prevent tracking and set off again. After another half an hour we reached the Big tree. We all nodded to each other and got to work. The banging of hammers filled the forest. All of us worried about Christian and Paul, for the sound should give away our position. After two whole hours our base was finished. We built a frame out of sticks and covered it with pieces of bark and other things. We had covered the roof with pine needles and leaves. We all climbed in and set out our blankets. After that we randomly picked someone to guard the house-me- and the others set off.
I sat down outside of the hut on a stump and watched. Watched and watched and watched. I saw a flash of tan skin and my heart started racing. “No one else in the group has tan skin!” I thought to myself. It was Christian, my own brother. I drew my airsoft gun and aimed it at where I saw the flash. It was dead silent. Then, out of nowhere, Christian burst out of the brush in full camouflage. Gun blazing, he ran toward me. I shot a few back and ran backwards deeper into the woods. I yelled and screamed for my friends but I couldn’t make out an answer. Faster and faster I ran. More and more pellets whizzed by my head, yet none hit me. I was running for the game, for my life. I quickly thought and ran up a hill. When I got to the top I spun around, sprinted and jumped. I was going for a branch I thought was there but wasn’t. I landed belly flop-style on the ground and rolled over. Christian was standing over me, panting. He raised his gun and wrapped his finger around the trigger. Right when he was ready to shoot I heard a crack. He must have heard too, because he looked up. It was silent. He chuckled and looked back at me. Still silent. Silence isn’t normal, I thought. It shouldn’t be here… after that thought a hail of gunfire came from behind me. They all bounced off of Christian and he fell. My whole group helped me up and we started walking back. Christian had officially lost. All that was left was Paul, but that’s a longer story. As we got back I smelled the smoke of a smoldering fire as well as some meat. “What you get?” I asked. It was fish they caught. Austin had brought tackle. We shared the sweet fish, planning on what to do next. We laughed and cheered over dinner, talking about our offence on Paul. “It will happen soon,” I said. My teammates seemed extra happy. Austin and Logan left and came back with something behind their backs. It was Paul’s helmet. We caught him. We had won.





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