Biscut war
...the helpless freshman, were to do anything just to fit in, the seniors guided them in what to do. We made them take off their socks and shoes and begin stomping the dough in the trash cans in an attempt to mix the dough.. The sun is down now, and it is time for war. Everyone hurriedly jumps into the back of trucks and trailers with the dough-filled trashcans. We all hold tightly onto the rails of the trucks as we zip off to the battle zone. All the seniors head through the gates to stand our ground. It’s a tradition for seniors to enter first. Everyone quickly jumps out to unload the dough and man their positions. Later the juniors make their way in to the battle zone, curious as to where the seniors are. Now everyone anxiously awaits the light that is to shine brightly into the sky, which will be our signal to begin. And here it is! Dough is being viciously thrown high into the sky attacking the opponent. This is going to be a very vicious battle. The juniors all start to run as we grab more ammo for the attack. Warriors are being smacked in the face and other body parts. Fireworks sparkle brightly as they are thrown into the dark sky. Some of them don’t blow up before they reach the ground and end up catching the dry grassy field on fire in various places. While the juniors are on the run, some seniors stop to stomp the small blazes out. As the dough supply begins to grow thin, our opponent is begging for us to stop. We have been declared the victorious winner of the evening! Still, many continue running around and throwing dough, determined not to give up. The anger and hostility begins to roar. Foul names are being called out loud, and fists are being driven into the faces of the opponent. Blood is gushing from wounds. Guys are not the only ones fighting; the girls are also doing their kind of fighting by hair pulling and the name calling. This is just as gruesome as a war that would be in a movie. The senior leaders are ordering everyone to calm down and for the juniors to leave. As the juniors slowly trail out with their tails between their legs, the name calling continues. We finally reach the gate, and trucks, resembling a traffic jam, are lined up and down the road for miles. Many are still angry, while others are just ready to get home safely. Trucks spin out, leaving tire mar...