Waiting for the kill,

my body begins to chill.

Hiding in the grass,

the enemy across the field.

Slowly they creep,

Through the early morning dew.

In seconds the battle will begin,

the blood seeping into the sand.

We're holding our fire,

till we see up their nose.

To shoot down this enemy,

we despise.

My body goes tense,

they're almost there.

I feel a slight tingle of expectation,

or is it fear?

Ping, Ping, Ping, one, two three-

pebbles fly.

Our rival gang is fleeing:

but they won't get out alive!

CALDER WOLFE