The Sixth Hole
The tiny crater in the ground cradled the small white ball in its grasp. The slight increase in surface temperature on the ball began to cool rapidly as it nestled itself deeper into the cool, moist earth around it. After having traveled some 267.695 yards through the molecular filled air which surrounds the earth, the tiny, but firm golf ball lay dazed and confused in the mineral rich surface of the swampy grass.
"If only I could bury myself deeper into the ground," thought the ball, "I wouldn't have to go through that agony again, that agony of being slammed into the sky by the long metallic arm of steel which was being firmly grasped by the powerful and buff man."
The deep, tall grass that surrounded the ball stood some 3.52 feet high and swayed slightly in the afternoon breeze somewhat like the cilia gently swaying back and forth inside the human ear. The shoots’ needle-like tips reached for the sky as if crying out in pain for someone or something to reach down and pull them toward their destination, the sky. The firm cellulosic ribbons that ran the length of the grass shoots bent ever so slightly in the relentless but persistent movement of wind. The green hue of color that radiated off of the grass shoots filled the cones and rods of any whose eyes should gaze upon them. The invisible wavelengths of light that reflected off of the grass and back to the eyes of the beholder would have looked like thousands of strands of multi-colored threads riding the wind had they been visible to the naked eye.
The swampy, lush ground that held the tiny ball in its grasp gave off small odorous scents of decaying and rotting plant life. To the untrained nose, however, these scents were little more than an itching that might occur at the tip of ones little finger. Their presence went undetected for the most part.
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Cal's casual walk down the fairway was usual on a day of golf like today. His massive size 13 shoes gently shuffled through the 1 1/2 inch high grass as it attempted to tickle the canvas which covered his epidermal shell. His eyes, small, blue, discerning and keen surveyed the land ahead of him as he sauntered along in search of his ball in the swampy grasslands a few hundred yards ahead. His hair, dark brown, but thin, blew carelessly in the afternoon breeze and lifted itself into the air the way seaweed does when disturbed by a brief movement of seawater around its base. His ears looked as if they had been gently pulled out from the sides of his skull during that important time in life known as womb development. They weren't massive ears, but they weren't small either. They were pulled out just enough for proper hearing, but not quite enough for resting anything much larger than a Q-tip on. His lips too were gently pulled from his face during his constructive months, but then abruptly dropped at a point about 1/4 of an inch out from his face and 1/2 inch from his nostrils. Thus, the appearance of two rolled cigars lay casually upon his face. His gait was one of confidence and poise, but he was relaxed and free at the same time. Up ahead, just a few more feet away was the tall grass which housed his small, trembling ball.
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The ground rumbled overhead with each pounding step of the behemoth that occupied it. The worms that lived there lived in fear as huge monstrous creatures roamed over their ceilings daily. Not a day passed without some part of their home being destroyed by falling dirt and sand or by the rushing torrents of water that gushed into their homes every time the man-made sprinklers were aroused from sleep by the giant timer God that lived somewhere in the far reaches of the land.
Funerals were often held in this world-of-the-worm for fellow worms who had died while at work or play. Many were brought back home, crushed, mangled and twisted by the terrible steel teeth that lived on the underside of these human monsters’ shoes. Others screams echoed through the endless labyrinth of tunnels as the deadly tips of golf tees plunged into the earth without warning and pierced the helpless worms through the way a swordsman would plunge his blade deep into his enemies’ chest. Still others were buried in pieces, those who had been unfortunate enough to be on the "surface" when the spinning blades of a grass-cutting machine zoomed by overhead. And now, today, it was happening again. The ground quaked, the ceiling began sprinkling dirt onto the worms below as if decorating some art project with glitter, and the spikes of death drove deep into the roof overhead. The sound soon died away. Today, no one would be buried.
The tall grass came crashing to the ground in painful heaps as
Cal carefully searched for his ball.
"I found one, no two," muttered Cal while still looking for his "special" ball.
"Wow, three more!" Cal exclaimed. He cheerfully dropped the dead remains of the five balls deep into the chasms of his canyon-like golf bag. The resounding "crack!" of each ball hitting another filled the new golf balls with terror.
"If those balls sound like that when hitting each other, how will we sound, or better yet, feel when being hit by metal!?" the new balls wondered. A few minutes more went by and then all was quiet in the deep recesses of the golf bag. Cal had set it down to search more thoroughly for his "special" ball that still lay shaking in the mud.
A lone robin flew overhead searching for something to eat. Below he saws miles of lush green grass that tempted him like a child being called to enjoy a cookie. He swooped earthward abruptly coming to rest a few meters from the "special" ball. He cocked his head at a slight angle, and could clearly hear the rustling underground of the worms as they went about their days activities. This is what he was looking for, lunch. Cautiously, so as not to make the slightest noise, the robin gingerly stepped from blade to blade with the increasing volume of worm movement filling his ears. His tiny cotton-light body sat gently on the toothpick-thick legs. His toes jutted out at several angles allowing him the freedom of movement with a minimum of sound which he so desperately required. At that moment, he stopped, dead in his tracks. His head tilted, he seemed to being burning holes into the ground with his acute sense of hearing. The worms crawled around oblivious to the danger at hand.
With a swift movement like that of tangible lightning, the robin's beak plunged deeply into the soft, cool earth below. His beak penetrated down, down, down, into the worm caverns below. His aim was dead on. His beak suddenly detected a change in texture as is emerged from the earthy feel of ground and sank into the soft feel of flesh. An instantaneous squirming sensation told the robin that he had hit his mark. With that, he violently ripped the earthworm through the surface of the ground and quickly consumed his afternoon appetizer.
His head cocked once again, he stealthily moved forward, intent on a good kill. Today, there would be many funerals.
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A faint white glimmer of sunshine off of the surface of the "special" ball revealed itself to the retina of Cal's left eye.
"At last!" Cal exclaimed. "I can now get back to my game."
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Cal's powerful fingers streaked downward through the air toward the half-buried ball like an airplanes descent toward the earth on its’ imminent crash landing. Within seconds, his strong, hidden tendons grew taut as the synapses in his brain sent blistering messages from one neuron to the next in an insatiable race to reach the fingers of his right hand before they crashed headlong into the surface of the ground. At just the right second, his hand screeched to a halt and his long slender fingers grasped the ball with just enough force to hold it in place so it would not fall to the ground below.
As the "special ball" quickly ascended into the air in the hand of Cal, the ground below became a blur to the balls’ vision as it peeked through the fleshly walls of Cal's long fingers. Within seconds, the ball was surrounded by darkness, and an unusual pressure enveloped it from all sides. The ball squirmed as it tried to free itself from the pocket prison of Cal's trousers in which it was momentarily entombed. But to no avail. The walls held it firm.
In the distance, the lone drone of the golf courses lawnmower could be heard. The ball shuddered to think what would happen if it should happen to be in the way of something so destructive and ruthless. But, not to fear. He was "safe" inside his prison for the moment.
The robin flitted overhead as Cal walked down the fairway, and flew off into the forest that lined the course somewhat the way a fence might line the exterior of a prison. Cal stopped and stared at the bird for a minute wondering what it would be like to fly like a bird, or for that matter even a golf ball. He was jolted back into reality by a distance sound of the word "fore!!" Instantly, Cal ducked and covered his head. A slight whirr passed him by just a few feet away, and a small bright orange ball rolled lazily to rest on the rough ahead of him. He turned around just in time to hear someone yell "Sorry." Cal smiled wryly and nodded before turning to continue on.
Since Cal had used a ball in place of his "special" ball once he noted that it had flown into the deep grass, he was in no rush for his next drive. His second ball lay quietly on the green just ahead looking somewhat like a small white frog on an oversized lily pad. The ball lay trapped in Cal's pants pocket as he casually walked along, his eyes focused on the cup just a few yards away. With the stroke of a true professional, Cal dropped his ball in the cup in just two putts. His score for hole five was one under par. So far today, he was doing well. Hole six, however, was the real test today. As always, this was the toughest hole for Cal on the course. It was a par five, and rarely did Cal score better than six on this hole. Today, though, he would score his best score ever.
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The long, glittering steel blade of Cal's driver slowly emerged from the bag like a missile being launched from its hole in the ground. Shortly, it was righted in Cal's hands and ready for use. The "special" ball sat precariously on the tip of the tee awaiting the surge of pain that would streak through its guts as the head of the driver released its power-punch of kinetic energy fully and completely upon the ball. Cal positioned himself over the ball. He took a couple of practice swings to be sure of his drive. Then, with a mighty swing, Cal's driver blazed through the air intent on pulverizing the small helpless body of the ball. In lightning fashion, the release of energy inundated the tiny white sphere and launched it heavenward toward the green in the distance.
As the ball seared its way into the sky, thousands of tiny molecules of air poured off of its surface the way fire and dust pour off of the surface of a meteor as it streaks through the atmosphere. Great globs of cohesive air molecules dripped from the underside of the ball as it began to slow in its ascent into the sky. At a given point in time, the massive hand of gravity stopped the ball dead in its’ flight and forced it to begin to descend again toward the earth below. Now the real terror for the "special" ball began.
As it began to descend at the rate of thirty-two feet per second squared, its increasing velocity began to burn violently into the divots on the surface of the ball. Each individual divot blazed with a feeling of fire and death. The stinging spray of air molecules being forced into the surface of the ball as it descended toward the earth caused the tiny sphere to scream in pain for the world to hear. Of course all that anyone really heard was the slight whistle of the ball as it plummeted to the ground. With a sickening "thud!," the ball dented the surface of the ground and bounced back into the air as if cursing gravity and then was abruptly slammed back to earth by the unseen hand of gravity. Weakened, the ball again bounced into the air, and again the hand of gravity showed the ball its’ power of resistance as it threw it back to the ground. A few more minimal tries at ascension by the ball and its weakened condition gave way to simply rolling along the ground until it could move no more. The ball, pain still surging through its guts, lay helplessly on the ground some 252.654 yards from where it started. Unable to move, the ball waited...waited to be battered again.
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The deep throaty growl of a distant thunder storm made its way into the auditory senses of Cal's ears as he walked along the fairway. Cal glanced toward the north and noticed the sky beginning to darken as if some huge hand were slowly pulling a thick dark blanket over the sky. Realizing that a golf course was not the ideal place to be during a thunderstorm, Cal's attention to it was definitely at a much higher level than if he had been somewhere else. A few feet further, Cal stopped and set down his bag next to his ball that lay half-hidden in the grass. He pulled out his three iron, positioned himself over his ball, and within less than 45 seconds, he had launched his "special" ball heavenward once again toward the cup on the green of the sixth hole. As he watched, the ball shrank in size like an old TV set screen used to do when it was shut off. Although the ball was such a miniscule dot against the blackening backdrop of the sky, Cal's sharp vision was able to keep the ball in sight.
The rods and cones at the back of Cal's eyes continued their constant work of sorting and sending information to his brain. Tiny electrical impulses raced to the visual cortex of his brain with such speed that Cal noticed no delay between the time he looked at his ball in the sky, and the actual time that it existed there. What Cal didn't realize however, was that just moments away, a huge electrical storm was heading his way. If one didn't know better, they might even conclude that it was headed for the sixth hole, at almost the same speed as Cal.
Cal watched as his tiny flying sphere landed gently on the green ahead. With clenched fists and extra adrenaline surging through his veins, Cal held his breath as the ball rolled toward the cup. At the very moment the ball began to teeter over the edge and down into the hole, a sudden blast of frigid air rushed out of the sky and across the green. The ball tumbled backwards in the same direction that Cal tumbled backwards and rolled about 12 feet from the cup. Dazed, Cal jumped to his feet cursing the blasted storm and mumbling obscenities under his breath. The wind abated and calm set in again.
An eerie stillness filled the air to the north of the golf course as the storm pushed its way toward Cal. The animals had all scampered away for shelter, and only the glowing of their eyes could be seen shining from their hiding places. The birds left the freedom of the skies and raced for their respective homes to batten down the hatches. The trees and plants became still in the cool pressurized atmosphere. They stood, arms outstretched as if saying "Come to Momma baby. Its okay." Of course, the storm respects no one as its mother, and thereby ignored these subtle signals given out by the trees. Positive electrical charges were racing to and fro within the upper reaches of the dense cloud layers while on the ground high-energy negative charges were being created. When ready, the explosion of these positive/negative electrons would emerge as a bolt of lightning from the sky and the super-heated air would explode with the roar of thunder. The time was almost nigh.
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Cal stood awe-struck at the magnificence of the building thunderhead. He had always respected storms, and had avoided them as much as possible. Today, however, it seemed that he would not be so fortunate. This storm was almost upon him.
Without further delay, he began to run toward the green so as to retrieve his "special" ball that lay 12 feet from the cup. He made it, but not before large, thick rain drops began to pelt his face and body. The nerves in his face sent messages screaming to his brain indicating a rather unusual amount of pain being received from ordinary raindrops. Within milliseconds the brain had responded by saying that these were not ordinary raindrops, but rather extraordinary raindrops as they measured approximately 1/4 of an inch in diameter. Their determination to irritate Cal would have been the envy of any small child toward an other brother or sister. The rain increased and it became increasingly difficult for Cal to see where he was going.
"I've got to get my ball and run for shelter," Cal kept thinking to himself. "But if this rain doesn't give me a little slack, I'm not going to be able to find my ball at all. I may end up leaving it here until I can get it a little later."
True to Cal's thoughts, he had to forget his ball and run for shelter. Alone, cold, and wet, the ball lay silently in the grass as Cal rushed off into the trees along the side of the fairway.
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Cal's "special" ball had been in rain before, but nothing like this. It was coming down so hard, the ball felt as if new divots were being created at that very moment in time upon its outer shell.
The rain continued to pour forth from the sky like a waterfall. Thunder roared overhead and lightning shattered the day with its intense display of high-energy luminescence. Thousands of volts of electricity played tag with each other in each stroke of lightning that struck the ground. Excited electrons raced between earth and sky in a harried frenzy as the storm continued to show its dazzling display of power to anything alive. Cal's ball shivered in the grass as the storm pounded on.
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As Cal peered out of the safety of his makeshift shelter of trees, he could faintly see the outline of his ball laying on the perimeter of the green. It's bright, clean, white shell glistened in the pouring rain. Tiny beads of water trickled slowly over its surface and pooled beneath it as if it were a doily.
"I'll get back out there in just a minute as soon as this storm passes," thought Cal. "This has been my best game for quite a while, and a little rain isn't going to stop me now!"
Cal hunkered back down and waited as the rain continued on.
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Shivering, cold, wet, and scared, the tiny ball laid there in an ever-increasing pool of water. Oh how it longed for the cramped, warm quarters of Cal's pocket now. Anything, anything but to lay helplessly in the water. The ball sat, waiting.
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Electrons in the upper reaches of the cloud mass were beginning to build again. Positive charges crackled and raced through the thin wispy tendrils of water vapor that hung precariously from the sky. Charging up within such a confined space and within such a short time, the excited electrons had to make their escape to the attractive other side. In similar fashion, the negatively charged electrons on the ground below quickly began their race toward the ultimate goal, reaching the sky and magnetically adhering to their electrifying counterparts. As this process quickly built both in the clouds and on the ground, the "special" ball continued its mute imitation of the dead balls at the bottom of Cal's bag.
The charge was about complete. The electrons raced back and forth in excited anticipation of being released to the other side. The waiting was the hardest part. Then, at the moment when it seemed they could wait no longer, an ear-splitting, eye-blinding flash pealed forth from the clouds in the sky. At the same moment a trail of electrons released from the earth squealed in delight as they raced heavenward to meet their destiny. Between these two powerful forces that were about to collide lay the "special" ball.
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Cal watched in horror as the streaking flash of light, which to him seemed to emanate entirely from the heavens, bolted downward and directly into the heart of his "special" ball. The release of so much energy confined to so small an area in such a short amount of time was too much for the ball to handle.
Its outer shell exploded in agony as millions of electrons pierced its only protection. Electricity burned deeply into the heart of the ball as it lay helplessly in the water. The force of the energy was so great that the ball was lifted off of the ground and thrown heartlessly into the atmosphere some 1,342 feet. The ball felt as if it had been hit by a million drivers at the same time. The ground below looked like a map. The green from which it had been launched was little more than a speck. The ball was no longer shivering from the cold.
As the ball turned over and over in the air, it could occasionally make out parts of the golf course that lay below it. Within a few seconds, it slowed to a stop and then began to fall. Faster and faster it fell. Faster than it had ever fallen before. Suddenly the ball realized that it was going to hit the ground hard, harder than it ever had before. SLAM! The ball was driven into the ground. It hit with such force that for a split second it began to flatten into a thin cookie-like wafer. Immediately, it returned to its original shape. As before, it began to ascend into the sky, but not before the friendly hand of gravity slammed it back to earth. After a few more attempts at again beating gravity, the ball gave up and rolled awkwardly and unevenly to the side of the fairway. It came to rest in the soft, cool mud. Its’ insides oozed slowly over the edge of the open wound. The divotted skin was peeled back like a container of Jiffy-Pop popcorn. Its red letter writing was twisted and melted into a ball of bright red goo. A single drop of melted lettering dropped onto the ground and sizzled slowly into the mud. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from its’ body. The tiny "special" ball now lay at rest on the muddy banks of the swamp.
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The bright orange light of sunshine blasted its’ way through the dark mass of clouds overhead. Beams of light began to pierce the dying cloud as it slowly dissipated in the atmosphere. Soon, the sun was again in full swing bringing warmth and joy to the living inhabitants below. Cal stretched, stood up and wandered over to the black, crispy grass that lined the edge of the sixth hole. A tiny white glimmer caught Cal's eye. He reached down, his neurons and muscles controlling his every move. He carefully picked it up. It was curved, somewhat like an overcooked piece of bacon. It was white, and it had a couple of divots on it. Amidst the divots, Cal looked closer, and saw the word "special" emblazoned into the skin. The "al" was blackened and curled under itself, but the message was clear. Cal's "special" ball was gone to who knows where.
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The powerful hands of Mitch were wrapped firmly around his golf bag. His long, healthy strides shook the ground and caused the worms to shudder in their tracks. His eyes roved over the scenery ahead.
"There, that's where it landed," he told Donovan. "Right over there by that tall grassy area."
Mitch and Donovan headed for the grassy area just ahead.
"Okay, start looking," Mitch yelled to Donovan. "It should be right here somewhere."
Donovan and Mitch began to meticulously search the deep grass.
The "special" ball was watching the two men through shattered eyes.
A tiny crater in the ground cradled the small white ball in its grasp.
