I stayed crouched in the bushes. With my right hand resting on my quiver of long, slim metallic arrows, I waited for his signal.
I still cannot remember how long it has been since the start of all this.
(This is a story about the life in Chempaka Park, once upon a time where many kids roamed the roads and jungles. )
Just yesterday we were at a calm peace, but now tension broke out and we were forcefully divided into two sides.
The drums of war thunder once more, thus began the first civil war in neighbourhood history, the Great War of Chempaka.
(Great memories when we were kids, and learnt the art of warfare, the hard way, yet the safe way. This journal entry is specially dedicated to Emperor Erect Sir Kael'thalas, Prince Jeffrey, and my former comrades of Chempaka. To our childhood memories!)
I looked around at my legion. We were no more than 14 years of age. In fact, the average age amongst us was about 11 years. Sweat and looks of anxiety streamed down our faces. We have been waiting for almost 5 minutes.
I glanced down at my quiver of arrows and my pipe-based longbow. I still remember the feeling of pride when I first discovered the power of a properly strung pipe based bow, effectively flinging 30 cm long metallic arrows over a distance that could cover a whole road's width. In Chempaka, that is about the furthest distance you would need, as there is very little open space and battles were mostly fought far out from civilisation.
The power was strong enough to punch a hole through a thick cardboard piece, or a thin plank of wood. When fired against thick planks, a devastating sound can be heard across 30 metres. It can shatter glass too, if the time required.
I looked at my team again. Mostly armed with simple wooden rubberband based bows and crudely fashioned wooden swords, they did not look very intimidating.
"He's coming back!" whispered one of my teammates.
True enough, he was. He came back with his great sword in hand, and shook his head. (it was more of a staff back then) The opposition were off exploring new hideouts and trenches in the jungles of Chempaka, apparently. Dinner time was coming, and our parents required us back before 1845 hours. The skirmish will continue tomorrow, at 1600 hours sharp.
Three months later.
We were at our home base, preparing for a upcoming battle. In those three months of exploration, colonisation and encapturement of territories, our technology also improved greatly.
I, still using my trusty but heavily improved longbow, was armed with a Glock Airgun and magazine of about 40 pellets.
My long bow now used heavy wooden arrows that could be sharpened at the tips, increasing damage and bleeding chances. Its range also increased dramatically due to the loss in weight. My bow also had its string extended to form a heavy whip to use at close quarter combat.
I looked at Jeffrey. He was arming his Sniper, so far the most heavy duty weapon seen in battle. Fitted with a proper scope, his accuracy was improved slightly, but the power was devastating. A shot at a window once from a distance of about 10 metres chipped the glass.
Every one else were weilding Desert Eagles and MP5's. Most were also armed with wooden swords too, but this time sharp enough to cut flesh. I know, it happened to me.
"Lets move out team," I commanded to them, rubbing my finger where I stupidly underestimated the sharpness of my sword.
Everyone automatically moved towards their mountain bikes (our most technologically advanced form of transportation) and took off towards the hills.
I flashed a look at Kael. He was gripping tightly an Ak-47, burst-fire capability. I stepped hard on my pedals and took off towards the hills as well on my trusty red steed.
Skirmishes were short and deadly. Gunfire were exchanged and many pellets found their targets. Wearing sunglasses to protect my eyes from stray shots, I let loose a few arrows. Several arrows hit their mark, but the distance and armour they wore protected them quite well from long range barrage. Most battles were fought on foot, but when bike-battles arose, things turns nasty. Riders would need to know how to cycle without hands to enable them to man their weapons. Most casualties were due to accidents, rather than gunshots.
There was once I was fighting aboard a bike, and ran out of wooden arrows. I switched to metallic, and desperately I fired at a lone rider, pedalling hard to reach up to his comrades. I missed the rider, but my arrow went right in between the spokes of his wheels and jammed his wheels completely. He was halted and we surrounded him and forced him into submission.
Since then, many riders were armed with metallic arrows and short bows and were trained to jam bicycles instead of hitting their riders. Th-
The journal uncovered was apparently torn into two or more parts. This is as much as the excavation team can decipher for now. In other words...
To be continued.
End of current Journal
The Padfutonian
Tyler Schoarnnoth Padfoot
The 18th of February, 1992 A.D.
'Once upon a wintery midnight...'
Fort ISB, Elite Guard of the International Baccalureate