Table Tennis

I am a ping-pong ball, a lightweight white hollow ball. There are two players who send me back and forth to each other with their rackets on a hard table over a short knitted net. This never-ending game could only stop if either of the players on either side of the table misses to bounce me back. I could become a dead ball if I don’t land on the opponent’s end line of the table. The game is fast. The reactions are quick. The eyes are gazed at me. The hands motions are my only guides. If I am not stopped by the hands, I am dead and the game is over. The game is all I have, you see. I need your undivided focus and hand-eye coordination for my survival. Game over means staying in a dark box filled with other ping-pong balls and little room to breathe. Watching my peer dead balls and hearing their death stories is depressingl mind-racking. I turn into a pessimistic creature with no ambition of success stories that may be brought about by tomorrows. I need to be gazed at and I need to be stopped by your hand motions to thrive into heights of happiness, because my ide mind in a dark box with other corpses is the house of devil. Take me with you into the game.