After Gary Soto’s “Oranges”

The first time I played paintball
With the intent of being Rambo
I was 12, My black rental gun trembling in my hands.
October, my birthday month,
The cool air swirling
The colorful leaves flying.
The game started,
Small balls of paint flying from the left
The right
I sprinted
A colorful wooden house got caught in the corner of my eye
I crept to the upper floor
Checking rooms for enemies
And settling in a small room
Pointing my sleek cold barrel out of the window
I saw my enemy.
He was tall, about in his 20’s
Covered in green Camo
his torso in my crosshairs
And pulled the trigger.
The man let out a vulgar swear,
Wondering who shot him.
Staying
Waiting
Breathing
Listening
In this beautiful position
Picking off man
After man
After man
And then it happened.
Sitting quietly waiting for another target
I heard footsteps enter the first floor.
Was he red or blue?
Did he know I was in here?
I heard clunk
Clunk
The enemy coming up the stairs
I could tell it was only one by the footsteps.
I panicked, and hid behind the cool stairs
The target walked up the stairs,
And I snuck a glance
It was a young boy.
Rental gun.
Sweatshirt.
Sweatpants.
Red.
I knew he didn’t know what he was doing.
I jumped out
With his back turned to me
Ripping out the words
MERCY MERCY MERCY!
My barrel pointed at his head.
I did it.