Through out my game I enjoyed it the glorious landscape as a king would. I struck my fat balls as it was my stupid step son (screw you kyle) but then the thundering voice of our god shunned me for sending the poor ball into the cursed sands “could you try and not getting it into the sand?” A single tear shed from my eye as I begged for mercy from the golf deity. I struck the ball with might in a attempt to appease the lord. “that shot was…fine I guess” my knees buckled for me as my poor soul left the shell of my body. I swan once more and made it near the hole. Silence only follows. I aimed my shot to make sure my putt would make master proud. I swung and my blood froze to ice as I saw the ball roll over the ball and barrel into the distant rough at terminal speeds. “that was a mess, good luck getting that out.” life seemed useless, I have failed him. My hands trembling I gazed upon the landscape before holding my breath and throwing my self off the cliffside into the sweet release.