First, I should say that I am not a real ninja, but I grew up watching all the ninja movies my mom would let me see and even some that she wouldn't. I used to fantasize about blending into the shadows, performing incredible feats, and silently striking my foes with deadly accuracy. I even begged my mom for ninja lessons, but she thought the piano would be better for me.
I forgot about ninjas for a long time until I happened to see "Revenge of the Ninja" late one night on cable. I immediately got pumped and very nearly flipped out, but my wife was asleep next to me and I didn't want to wake her. Instead of flipping out, I went on-line and bought myself this ninja uniform. I was like a kid waiting for Christmas until the uniform arrived, and once it did, I threw off all my civilian clothes and put on the black uniform of the shadow warrior. I felt so pumped and totally sweet that I vowed never to take it off.
I wore the uniform to work, to my son's school play, to the gas station, and even to bed. After a few weeks I was known around town as the local ninja even though I had no martial arts or weapons training and lost my only fight to a girl back in the third grade.
Everything was fine until the day I was walking from lunch back to work when I felt a sudden blow to my solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me. Iron hands grabbed me and pulled me into a side alley. I fought for breath while a harsh voice whispered in my ear. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but my head was spinning so badly I had to focus just to stay conscious. As my vision cleared and my breath returned, I became aware of steel fingers clutching my throat and the whispering began to sound like Japanese. "Please," I croaked, "take whatever you want, just don't hurt me." The whispering stopped and I found myself staring into a pair of cold, dark eyes behind a black mask and hood--another ninja! The ninja looked at me intently and in a flash pulled down my mask to expose my face. The ninja took one look at my pale, frightened visage and laughed. I felt a wash of relief and began to laugh myself when the ninja suddenly stopped laughing, pinched my throat painfully, and stared at me with deadly intensity. "You are no ninja," he said in perfect, unaccented English, "You are just a little boy playing ninja, but you do not know our ways. I will show you a little." He shifted his grip, cutting off my air, and then jabbed me in the back of arm, sending blinding white pain into my head. I wanted to faint, but his grip kept me standing. "You will take off this uniform and never wear it, or anything like it, ever again, or I will return and give you further instruction in our ways." His grip loosened and I collapsed to the ground. I looked up but didn't see any sign of him. I immediately went home and changed out of my ninja uniform.
People ask why I gave up wearing the ninja uniform, and I tell them that I just grew tired of it. I haven't told anyone the truth, and somehow I think my mysterious ninja friend would prefer that I don't.
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