Preparing for a game of paintball was like preparing for war. Sleek, black helmet straps were adjusted, guns were locked and loaded and camouflage paint was smeared across grim faces.

Only one would survive. Only one could win.

The shrill blast of the whistle sliced through the air signalling the start of the game. Boots trampled across muddy patches of ground as people took up positions among the arena. Leafy, green shrub was brushed aside as children hurried to claim the best barricades and shelters. Shortly after, the first bullets cracked through the sky.

Even though it was just a party, people went all or nothing in order to win. A squad of four children located an abandoned hut with rotting windows overlooking a wide copse in the middle of the arena. Around the edges of the centre, many kids were propped on slight mounds of earth hoping to pull of a difficult shot. The foursome on the hill were getting targeted from all angles. Tiny, yellow spheres of destruction zoomed through the air at the small, derelict hut in which the team of four had taken. “Everybody get down!” one of them yelled as a sea of paintballs slammed into the walls of the hut. Simultaneously, all four boys in the hut jumped to their feet, poked their guns out the windows and yelled in defiance as waves of bullets exploded out their guns and found their marks among the arena. Five minutes later everyone was out. Except for the foursome of course. Lifting their helmets they breathed in the cool, fresh air and admired the shiny, emerald trees.

They had done it. They had won.

Triumphantly, the survivors marched out the arena into the cheers of their friends. No hard feelings, it was just a party after all.