Rebola

Back when my sister and I were kids, hackey sacks were back in fad. We were given one as a treat on Halloween. We kicked it until it split. Then I taped it up with electricians' tape. That made it too hard. It was painful to kick. So I tied a leather boot lace around it, making a single-stone bola of sorts. It made for fun games of catch, like those fox-tails they'd hand out in P.E.

Being that it had two cords, it also could double as a whip. It could grab branches, chair legs, brooms, rakes, and shovels. As well as high branches and power lines. After several hair-raising rescues of this "toy", out of trees and off power lines, I reassigned it. As it was, it wasn't bad as a bola, either. It helped catch our dogs when they'd escape. Also, it settled them down when they were rowdy with the high pitched screech it emitted when spinning it.

When I fled my grandparents' house, I took it with me. It sure came in handy. All the stray dogs out West. Too many times, I was chased and attacked on the way to my bus stop and such. Eventually, most dogs on my route came to fear the Rebola. Those who were newbies learned fast and hard. It made a good makeshift battle mace. Those who didn't learn, well... I already had Stinger.

After I collected more knives, experience, and martial arts moves from various people and styles, I retired the rebola. Ultimately it was riddled with nails and hung beside a Dragon painting from my friend Echo, along with an old rusty hatchet and short sword.

You'd be shocked at how much trouble that rebola landed me in later in life. Just by hanging on the wall. In California. Maybe not so shocked, for all you California natives.