Flying Feathers

Dear Journal,

I know I've neglected you as of late, but in all fairness, it's been a hectic summer. That being said, I have time now, and an ideal freshness of the events that took place that fateful summer night. Before the most prominent memories fade and become footnotes to a nostalgic memory, I'd like to document the incident that occurred in the final days of our time at sleep-away camp. To the best of my ability, the following is the complete recollection of the greatest pillow fight ever to exist (probably), complete with (hopefully close enough) dialogue from my comrades and a first-person point of view of the carnage that befell the hollowed campgrounds.

Aug 9th 2003

Temporary allegiances are made in necessity. In the thick of battle, when your back is against the wall and atrocities abound, you cling to your closest compatriots. These few unlikely allies weren't just all I had; they were all I needed. Of course, that wouldn't be the case if douchebag Johnny didn't betray me for his new baseball team friends. I had to bunk with a bunch of randoms in a different cabin. I thought our last year at camp Fishbone (or as the kids called it, Camp Fishboner) would be special, but the prevailing caste system that is junior high would see us on different sides of a raging war.

It all started normally, like most kid games. Just your standard run-of-the-mill pillow fight, two or more kids slinging head cushions at each other until someone goes too hard or gets hit with a zipper, and a real fight usually ensues. Sometimes kids, or in this case, prepubescent teens, like to amend rules and add new ones. The original contest becomes an amalgamation of laws, regulations, and sophisticated edicts. But even I couldn't predict what this would become. Even I couldn't foresee the toll it would take; even I, Thomas Arbuck the third, couldn't see that this trying escapade would last all night long.

The rules were etched into Toad's notebook, my new teammate and resident battle scribe. Everybody called him Toad because he allegedly licked a frog on a dare.

Teams were divided based on location. (Of course, that meant I wasn't on Johnny's team; we were on either side of the lodgings.) If you got hit in the arm, you lost it; in the leg, same thing. Yes, I did see someone fight without any appendages, gripping the pillowcase in their teeth, swinging wildly like a rabid dog. It was futile, of course, they should have quit while they were ahead. Literally, it was better to be a prisoner than to have to sit out the rest of the game. If you're lucky, you can retreat and heal your injuries in the medical tent, a.k.a. the multi-stalled out house. A tempered time of five minutes, and all wounds would be healed, and you'd be ready to re-enter battle. Headshots, though, there was no coming back from that; it was instant death, you'd have to relinquish your pillow and go into ghost mode, spectating the rest of the conflict as an apparition. There were two winning stipulations. The first was surrender; the second was that the king had to be killed. Each side appointed its king before the confrontation occurred. Of course, their side picked my former best friend Dickhead Johnny as king, and we picked Peter. Yeah, I had no clue who Peter was. We never really chilled or anything, just a face in the hall. Keeping him alive was all I cared about.

10:45

It was approaching eleven at night, and Toad and I led a small brigade on a prison rescue operation. A tip led us to the pavilion where all the POWs were corralled onto the stage. Toad had drawn out an elaborate scheme after a brief reconnaissance, filled with a rough sketch of the interior and exterior, including the estimated number of guards represented as stick figures. This kid was detailed and thorough. "Sire, we must be vigilant and proceed with caution." I could do without the impromptu Olde English, though.

We had separated accordingly, I made my way to the front, and the rest of the team was placed two people at every exit. I tiptoed into position with the precision of a timid ninja. Rounding the corner, I slung my weapon into position. Cocked and ready, I fired, connecting clean with the enemy, sandwiching his head with the single pane window, sounding off like a gong. "Ow fuck! What the hell, dude?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" I whispered. "It's just a game, man, that really hurts," the most recent casualty said, walking away, rubbing his head. "Sorry," I repeated. Hopefully, he heard me.

The clamor of the head slam alerted the remaining guards, who flooded to the exits to see what had happened. Right on cue, Toad and the other allegiance smashed the unsuspecting sentries into oblivion. Numbers dwindled as we all made our way through the building. We greatly outnumbered the remaining adversaries, they surrendered willingly. "Come on, everybody, you're free, we'll escort you back to home base." "Yes, rejoice and be merry, you are knights of the king's court once again," Toad chimed in.

We were in a good spot, it was approaching midnight, and the counselors were still getting their fill of the end-of-summer party; they were oblivious. After acquiring the prisoners and waiting for the injured to be restored, we should have enough people to at least hold our own when the battle at Geese Shit Shallows begins (Geese Shit Shallows was a soccer field).

12:00

The greatest battle of the night would commence at midnight sharp. Minor skirmishes had ruled the entirety of the war up until this point. The higher-ups, shithole Johnny and the homie Peter, had jointly decided it was time to amp things up a bit. The whole of the north and south side cabins would meet on Geese Shit Shallows in an all-out clash, if not to end the warfare but to tip the scales (hopefully in our favor).

The stage was set, the tension was palpable. I had the medical tent ready and guarded for the inevitably wounded. The rainbow-haired girl, Shelly, took on the job. "I don't mind, I can do my crafts while I wait." Perfect.

Staring across the void, I saw the sea of faces, faces that were once familiar to me, but now they just looked like targets. Their numbers seemed to be thinner than expected. We may really have a chance here.

Jacob Sutherland, the unofficial MC of the proceedings, took a spot mid-way on the bleachers. He raised his hand, ready to karate chop the air. "On my mark!" he shouted. "Ready!" The armies thrust their pillows into the moonlight in a sign of unity. "Set, go!"

The masses moved like waves, clashing in the midfield, splintering into one another. The casualties at the front lines were immediate. For their sake, I hope they were caught with memory foam. The calamity spread into small pockets across the sacred turf. Back to back with Toad, we'd take out four or five of the Southsiders on our own. I regained my bearings after my last elimination and gazed across the devastation. Their side had more ghosts than fighters. We may pull this off; we may win. Just as I harbored any sort of relief, I heard a slight rustling come from the woods adjacent to the field. I saw their eyes first, like specters in the night; they appeared one by one, casting their presence along the forest line. Then, like being shot from a cannon. The rest of the northside infantry scaled the fence and advanced with startling speed towards our position. This was a trap; we were being flanked.

The attack from the side left us little time for proper defense; the headhunters took out a sizable chunk of my squad. I warded off two of the attackers with a few well-placed uppercuts. There wasn't much we could do in the blink of an eye; the scales had tipped, and one side was staring at an ungraceful defeat.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, a silhouette stamped the sky. A stranger on the hill. It was Marcus, the quiet kid. He was already slated to be junior varsity for the football team two years out of high school. He was big for his age and mostly reserved, really just kept to himself, but not on this night. This night, he'd be the savior of the great pillow war of '03.

Marcus charged the field while dual-wielding two full-size body pillows. Like a whirling top of maiming and destruction, he met the battlefield like a divine storm.

Marcus would even the odds, but nothing more; we were still greatly overpowered. In my last-ditch effort, I shouted to whoever was left. "Retreat!" The surrender was preplanned, scatter and take off into the woods, split up, so you were harder to follow. Aside from a few very unlucky stragglers, it worked. After what seemed like an hour of running, we regained some semblance and met at the main cabin, ready to plan our next move.

1:15

We needed time; we needed to think. It's quarter past one in the morning, and we've been at it all night. We needed a break. I grabbed the tin-can string phone and plucked the taut line twice. Not long after, a small hum came through, vibrating the tin can, followed by an overly amused voice. "Oh my god, did you hear that?" the recipient howled. "I farted in the can! did you hear it? Did it work?" I could hear his buddies giggling in unison. I couldn't help but chuckle. Switching gears, I got back to business. "Listen, I have a proposition. I'd like to lay out some terms of a temporary ceasefire." I can faintly hear the enemy. "Hold... hold on, the can smells," He sighed and proceeded, "ok, go ahead." I laid out the terms of the ceasefire, which were as follows: Everybody chill for a bit. The south sider agreed, said he'd immediately take the news to the king, and everybody would hang tight for at least an hour.

Things had finally started to calm down to the point where my vigilance was waning. My gang and I decided to take a load off and dig into Jacobs' candy stash. Nerds-ropes, and Mountain Dew are enough for me, Toad, Marcus, and Jacob. We were really in giggle mode at this point, snorting, crying laughter only the depths of night could bring. "Sincerely, where are the counselors? It's been like four hours past lights out, there's literally like eighty-five kids running around with their pillows." "I don't know, maybe they think we're sleepwalking. Best not to wake a sleepwalker, all eighty-five of them", I retorted. Jacob found a break in the merriment to take a bite of his Nerds rope. That's when it happened. I saw the disaster in slow motion. His hat went before his body, flying up and out, sailing through the musty air. Next, his eyes and lips protruded before his neck and head came to meet them in a ferocious whiplash motion. The sound was deafening. Well, maybe not deafening, more like a solid pfft sound, even so, it still rings in my ears to this day.

I hadn't been paying attention to the time; I got lost in our exuberance. The hour was up; they must have been lying in wait for the exact moment, a perfectly timed ambush. Before I knew it, we were rushed in on. Like ants to a hill, they siphoned through the doors. My vigilance returned; I made a hasty move to an open window and escaped narrowly. At that moment, I almost wished I hadn't. It was worse watching my brothers and sisters in arms fall to their fluffy fate. I'd rather be amongst the fallen at that point. I ran into Shelly outside. "How are our reserves? Do we have anyone ready from the medical tent?" "Oh no," she said, surprised. "Somebody took a dump in there; nobody's used it for a while." Dear God, I thought to myself, we were truly doomed. The scene played out like a tragic opera. Friend and foe whapped with merciless precision. Falling, running, yelling, and ultimately succumbing to their fateful demise.

I had to do something; this couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end.

I screamed with all the breath in my body. "I DECLARE COMFY COMBAT." All the surrounding campmates turned to look at me. Someone from the opposing side hastily responded. "The fuck is comfy combat?" "Hold on, where's Toad? He's got it written down somewhere." I watched as Toad split the crowd and waddled toward me. He adjusted his specs and turned the pages of his composition notepad. "Ah, yes, here it is," he yelled as much as his tiny frame would allow. "Should either side be reduced to 20% or less of their respective army, they can invoke comfy combat, a one-on-one duel to the death with the opposition's king." A last-ditch effort, a Hail Mary. Whoever wins claims victory for their side.

3:45

The stage was set. The entire camp set a circle around me and fuckface Johnny. Toad was beckoned to officiate the clash. "Huzzah, we have our first ever comfy combat, what a historic evening, one that will be etched in the great halls of Camp Fishboner." Oh brother. "The rules are simple: two combatants, there will be a winner once the other is dead. Now, on my mark, we begin. May you bless this sacred ground with your feathers and fight justly in the throngs of glorious battle." Toad backed towards the wall of campers and yelled into the night. "FIGHT." Everyone laughed at his voice crack, except for me. I was intent on ending my former best friend.

I came at Johnny with wild, tight circle swings, hoping the onslaught would overwhelm him. He backpedaled, waving his pillow left to right, making contact every few strikes. The crowd was roaring; I had a moment to say a few words. Might as well get something off my chest, might not be another time. "You having fun with your baseball buddies, Johnny?" I took a hefty swing at his head. He turtled up, causing the near miss. "Dude, it's not like that, please. I needed to make a good impression, I wanted the starting position, and Keith's dad is the assistant coach." I couldn't let him rant; I twirled my stretched case, building quick momentum for an uppercut. He met it softly with a horizontal block. It was becoming evident that I was in a losing battle. I should have known better. Johnny was top-tier when it came to pillow fighting; our numerous sleepovers told me as much.

I halted my forward attack. I just wanted to talk. "This was supposed to be our best year, man, remember. Our final year at Camp Fishbone, I even got the new set of battle monsters so we can open it together." "Seriously, dude, the new set?" Johnny showed his first sign of compassion during that entire confrontation. "Yeah, man," "But that set is so expensive, you'd have to mow at least 40 lawns." "Well, yeah, dude." Johnny took a somber stance, a contemplative stare filled his gaze. "I don't know, man, I'm sorry, I guess, I was just...trying to fit in and this was my only chance.”

The moment was interrupted when a spectator hollered from deep in the crowd. "Get back to fighting dipshits." Despite my breakthrough, there was still a battle to be won. I picked my shots carefully this time: a body and head combo. Johnny met each hit with a soft thud. I threw my balance from the last shot and pirouetted in the opposite direction. Spinning pillow back fist. But Johnny's pillow was already high and tight to his head. Another block. But to my utter surprise, I watched the feather bag slip from his shoulder, completely exposing his head. Wham! A clean hit to the right side of the ear.

The collective yell swept in, filling the void of silence. I had done it, I had slain the king. The battle was one, I beat King Johnny. The commotion began to settle, and the troops started to meander back to their respective homesteads.

"You could have blocked that. Did you do that on purpose?" "I don't know, maybe, or maybe you're just that good." Johnny grinned. "No, honestly, I made a mistake, dude. I should have been chilling with you the whole time. I'm sorry, I'm a dick. And also not for nothing, I really wanted this shit to be over, it's like almost four in the fucking morning." We both laughed. "Hey, but before bed, what do you say we open up some battle monsters?" "I'd like that," I replied.

Nobody really slept that night; the grounds were buzzing with fanfare and tales of the recent spectacle, plus we didn't have any pillows.

Was my final year at Camp Fishboner my best year, as I had planned? Considering we had waged a full-scale pillow war across ten acres over the course of an entire night, a war that I won by slaying a king with my sweet backspin move. Yeah, I gotta say, it was pretty great. Oh, and I got my best friend back, that's gotta count for something, right?