Tag by Anne Tolar

The man glanced over his shoulder and darted down the make believe alley. They weren't going to catch him...not those two. NEVER! It was only a game anyway... but a deadly serious game.

Movement to his right sent him to his belly, amid the trash, the cleaned up mess...in real life it would have been through urine, puke, needles and rot. He knew it too well. For now, it was still a game...still fun.

At the click of a chambered round...a paint tag...Larabee popped up and splattered the first assailant with thick red goo. Then he sensed the second behind him, rolled, SPLAT! Red paint right between the eyes.

"GOTCHA!" Larabee rose, grinning at the makebelieve foes...game over. He'd won for his team.

SPLAT! Green dripped down the chest of his black muscle shirt, slopping down to cover his tight black pants leg and puddle on his shiny black boot. "WHAT THE HELL! Show yourself!"

"Hey, Cowboy. Gotcha back!"

"What?" His mind chided his own self, Teach me to think the game's EVER really over. Even if the round's friendly fire...you can still be dead.

"Shoot, you always say to change the game! I's just doing what ya said!" The younger man grinned and reloaded.

Chris laughed and pounded his leather clad back. "NOT ON ME, YOUR IDIOT! DON'T CHANGE THE GAME ON ME! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE!"

THE END