Up hill shot, breeze in face, the ball was struck perfect. When I got out of the cart, I was shocked. I didn't see a ball, and I felt completely bummed out. I mean, seriously? That shot skipped off? I muttered, "Damn, that's really unfortunate." My disappointment was palpable. As I stood there, still trying to process my shot, my friend chimed in, "OR IT COULD BE REALLY FORTUNATE." I raised an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. "Fortunate? How could that possibly be fortunate?" I asked, skepticism in my voice. My friend just grinned mysteriously and nodded toward the pitch mark left by my shot. I sighed and bent down to examine it more closely. It was then that my heart started pounding in my chest, and a chill ran down my spine. The pitch mark, upon closer inspection, didn't look quite right. It seemed too deep and perfect, almost like it had been intentionally carved into the grass. I glanced at my friend, who now wore an amused yet cryptic expression. Feeling a sense of unease creeping over me, I took a few hesitant steps towards the hole. Each step felt like an eternity as I moved closer to the cup, my eyes locked on it. My breathing grew shallow, and my palms became clammy. I was almost scared of what I might find. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the hole. My heart was now pounding so loudly that I was sure my friend could hear it. I slowly peered inside, and there it was, lying at the bottom of the cup.

My ball.