Roman Candle War

Provided by: fireworkbt.com

For years on end in Seattle it was said that summer actually started on July 5.  That’s because there was a string of summers where the Independence Day was cold, cloudy, and rainy, and then the next day would be bright and sunny.

Well it was about 10 years ago when there was a break in the trend.  The sun was standing tall, the skies were clear, and the weather was warm.  It was going to be an awesome 4^th of July.

Our garage was packed with the usual array of fireworks.  We would have enough colored explosives to last us through the night and well into the morning.  Whoever thought of the phrase, “Your money going up in smoke,” many very well have had my father in mind.  Except in His case it was going to be very beautiful colored smoke.

However there was only on aspect of the day that I am going to write about today.  Ten years ago, at my house there was an epic one-on-one Roman Candle War.

The idea started with a passing comment.  No more.  I war of fireworks.  But it was an idea that started to fester in the mind of my brother.  He started to plan, scheme and strategize about how to turn our arsenal into a war of the ages.  A battle of fireworks, how incredible would that be?

He got together with his best friend, Zack, who was over at the house that day, and together they started carefully eying the kaleidoscope of bright packages that was neatly displayed in one of the bays of our garage.

In the end, the weapon of choice turned out to be the Roman Candle: a stick of gun-powered that shot ten flaming balls of fire at about two second intervals, each one with increasing velocity.

My contribution to this battle seemed relatively small at first, but proved to be pivotal by the end.  I insisted that they wear paintball masks for eye protection.  I was not about to lead my brother about by the hand for the rest of his life while he carried a white cane if it could be avoided.

Our lake-front property had a relatively small back yard, but the tight dimensions only served to heighten the rules of engagement.  My brother and his friend stood at opposite ends of the rectangular cut of grass.  They were not allowed to advance, nor were they allowed to retreat.  They could only move back and forth laterally along the edge of the lawn.

With a lighter in one hand and a roman candle in the other, this modern day dual was about to commence.  People were lined along the balcony of back deck, looking down at the gladiators below.  A paddle boat passing by had stopped to see what the fuss was about.  It was go time.  Ready: the fuses were lit with spits and sparks.  Aim: the weapons were raised and pointed squarely at the opponent.  [Silence].  Fire: the first flaming ball shot out of the end and gently arced toward the other side.

Each person easily parried the volley with a side step and got ready for the next round.  For a spilt second there was a moment of let down.  Would this battle really be so anti-climactic?  A second later we all go our answer.  When second shot exploded from the ends with increased force and velocity, we all remembered the nature of the weapon.  This would be a fight that would increase in difficultly with every shot.

As the set of fiery balls crossed paths and hurtled toward their opponents, the young men had a little more trouble getting out of the way.  It was not the velocity of the shot which made it difficult, but rather it was the surprise combined with the realization that each subsequent shot was going to come with ever faster speed.

The third round fired, and was dodged on both sides.  Each person was ready for it, bending their knees so they could jump from side to side.

Then the fourth round, it was faster still.  Zach was able to dodge the shot just fine but in doing so, he did not keep his Roman Candle pointed at my brother.  His own shot went awry.  He was going to have to keep his weapon pointed at my brother at all times, if he was going to win.  Neither person could control when their firework would go off, which only added to the challenge.

By this time, the weapons were not in sync with each other.  Run.  Stop.  Duck.  Dodge.  It was as much of a mind game as anything else.  Each person had to anticipate where the other would be, and shot at that point while dodging at the same time.

Fifth Round.  Sixth Round.  The shots were coming faster and faster.  By this time the boys were dodging rockets that were being aimed straight at their heads.

Seventh Round: my brother’s shot was flying right at Zach.  He just barely ducked his shoulder, and volley whizzed passed his and exploded off the concrete retaining wall behind him.

Eighth Round: my brother was running right, and Zach fired right in front of him.  He tried to stop, only to loose his footing and slide to the ground.  The firey ball zipped over his head and ricocheted off the tree behind him in a flash of sparks.

Ninth Round: my brother fired while still half on the ground.  Zach tried in vine move his midsection out of the way.  The shot nicked his hip.

Tenth Round: as Zach was still in mid-dodge from the previous round he pointed his weapon right at my brother’s head and it went off.  The final shot went off like a cannon.  It was as if time were going in slow motion.  The flaming bullet was racing right for my brother’s face.  He saw it coming, but shot was moving faster than the electronic signal from his brain to his muscles.  There was nothing that he could do.  The flaming gun-powered splashed off the protective mask with a splash of color that resembled a Chinese fan of light.

Was that it?  Each person kept their weapon pointed at the other not wanting to take any chances.  They were still on the balls of their feet, ready to dodge an unexpected discharge.  Nothing.  There was a collective sign of relief that started down between the two combatants and made its way through the entire crowd.  The battle was over.  The war was done.  Everyone had survived.

The two went over to shake hands, and compare battle scars.  Zach’s shirt was badly singed, but was no worse for wear.  My brother was absolutely fine; the paintball mask fulfilling its intended purpose.  It had been a tie.  One hit apiece.  And although each one of these young men was highly competitive, the intensity of the dual was more than anyone expected.  This one would be a draw for all eternity.  It would go down in the record books as an even match, and one never to be repeated.

Thank you all for reading.  If you like the page please feel free to follow it, and or share it with a friend.  See you tomorrow for more adventures!  Take care and God bless!