Bon Bon Battles
Bon bons weren’t just sweets. They were status. Identity. A declaration of who you were in the playground hierarchy. And every kid knew it — which is why the Bon Bon Battles were legendary.
It always started the same way. Someone would open their paper bag and you’d hear that unmistakable thud of bon bons hitting the bottom. Heads turned. Mates gathered. Because bon bons weren’t quiet sweets. They demanded attention.
There were factions, too — unofficial but deadly serious:
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Strawberry Loyalists — sweet, soft, crowd‑pleasers
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Lemon Warriors — sharp, tangy, fearless
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Iron Brew Rebels — bold, fizzy, chaotic
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Apple Outlaws — underrated but fiercely devoted
Everyone had a favourite, and everyone believed theirs was the best. Arguments broke out daily. Friendships were tested. Deals were made and broken.
The battles themselves were simple: you’d line up your bon bons like tiny soldiers on the wall or the bench or the tarmac. Your mate would do the same. Then, with the seriousness of a world championship, you’d flick them at each other.
Whichever bon bon cracked first lost. Whichever survived was crowned champion. And the winner got both sweets — a prize that tasted twice as good because it came with victory.
Some kids trained their bon bons. They’d roll them in their hands to warm them up. They’d inspect them for cracks. They’d choose the biggest, heaviest one for battle days. Others relied on luck — grabbing whatever came out of the bag first and hoping for the best.
There were legends, too. Stories of bon bons that survived ten battles in a row. Stories of Iron Brew bon bons that shattered strawberry ones with a single hit. Stories of lemon bon bons that refused to break, even when dropped from the top of the climbing frame.
Teachers didn’t understand it. Parents didn’t understand it. But every kid knew: Bon Bon Battles weren’t about sweets. They were about pride. Skill. Glory.
And when you won — when your bon bon stood victorious, dusty but unbroken — you felt unstoppable. Like you’d conquered the playground. Like you were the champion of something that truly mattered.
Even now, when you see a bon bon in a jar, you don’t just think of flavour. You think of battle. Of flicking sweets across sun‑warmed tarmac. Of cheers, groans, laughter. Of childhood competition at its purest and funniest.
Bon Bon Battles weren’t just games. They were memories — the kind that stick to you like sugar dust on your fingers.