War of the Socks

Camp Winshape, home of the annual Sock War. WHAT IS SOCK WAR?!? Only a true
noob would ask that. And that means...
Yes, sock wars... the rules? Obtain points. How? Complete a prefect creamery with a sock to the jaw of another player... an opponent of course. 2 teams: red or blue. Of course, you could be white, but
you’d need your own headband and you’d be creamed by everyone.
I am on the blue team. I am confident. I am talking in very brief sentences. I’m about to ruin it. The reason I’m confident is because this is merely the warm up round, only the other Shawnee’s (a rank). I am in cabin 5 and 6 and am in #6. So I am on the blue team. Every even number, 2,4,6,8 are blue. Every odd number, 1,3,5,7, are red. Well, I mean, that’s not every odd number. I mean there’s 11, 13, 15, 17, 19, 21... so on and so forth. Same for the evens. Anyways...
Yes, I am a pro, a member of Sock wars so supreme... that I didn’t notice the horn had honked, announcing te start of the round...
“Hey... we started.”
I turned. Oops.
I joined in running down the hills to separate and go as far as we could without leaving boundaries. Of course, the red team did too. Already I saw blue team members walking, hand on head to show that they were out, walking to the truck. They got renewed, of course. Whenever they’re out they turn themselves in
so that the Point Keepers can keep track of points... If it wasn’t for this, “army men” wouldn’t be running down the bloody hill like a pack of rabid dogs on steroids with chickens out in the field covered ‘n salt.
Anyways... I had a usual spot: the corner of the sidewalk. Actually, it was left of the sidewalk and
then forward. The walk sloped down, so I was elevated, covered by trees and surrounded by leaves.
Someone walked by, hands on head.
“Out already?” I asked. He was from cabin 7-8, on side 8. The 8’s and my 6’s didn’t get along to well...
“Who are you?”
“The boogey man.” He still had two socks. Must’ve “mugged” a coupla kids. I was on thin ice. But don’t worry- I can skate.
“Ha-ha. I could peg you right now, punk.” I had no socks. I got up.
“Well,” I brushed off leaves. “Go ahead.”
“Heh. I’ll pass. See you at the truck.”
Oh-no. He had cronies to follow him. I’m oh so scared. Boo-hoo.
Now, a good player always has secrets. Mine? Play weak. Then when in trouble, dive for
resources.In this case, mine was a pile of three socks hidden under some leaves.
I grabbed some socks. Almost immediately, a sock was where my head was previously. Which was nice because my pile had been replenished. BANG! At least, that’s the sound I imagined when my sock hit a
cronie in the stomach. At my aim, the other cronie took off. I spared ‘im.
Now it was time for action. Should I recruit a group? I usually saved that for the huge war- that is,
when I’m with the Navajo and Choctaw and Apache...
But this was an exception. Two friends walked by. I didn’t know them, but they were on my team.
“Hey!” I said. They turned, socks in hand. “Chill,” I said hopping down from the ledge. “I’m recruiting... my group is the Wolf Pack. I’ve got a sock for both of you. They nodded and made some hmm humm heem noises and agreed to join. Great. "Alright, come on." I walked toward the London Forest, a bunch of trees on a hill. Very good spot if you want to avoid danger.
Most of the time.
"Red, 11 o'clock. Show me whatcha got." I said. The other people turned and looked at me. I sighed. These people were so n00bish...
"Fine. I'll show you."
I crouched low. The red member had his back to me. He was crouching at the edge of the "Forest." And about a split second later he was walking, hands on head, toward the truck, scowling.