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Cannibal Island

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Clouds covered the sun. Everything was dark. The island was quiet except for the sound of his breathing and the waves crashing onto shore. A few minutes slowly passed and then, “Crack!” Thunder sounded, lightning flashed and the rain began to pour heavily. The man stood silently, shivering from the bitter wind as water washed over his feet. Just half an hour ago, he had been on a boat, trying to sail out of the storm that was coming. Then a huge wave had crashed him onto this island. The man was grateful that he had at least been able to radio the coast guard right before the waves had crashed his vessel. They should be coming the next day, since they could not come out in the storm.
He glanced around. Only coarse sand covered the hills of the island. No trees or grasses were in sight. The man sucked on his coat and swallowed the salty raindrops, trying to quench his thirst. Somewhat satisfied, he ascended a large hill and noticed some movement below the hill. He jogged down the hill and saw some people eating some raw meat. Maybe, just maybe he would be able to eat and stay with them—after all, they were familiar with the island and probably knew how to survive.
The man walked towards the people and saw them turn towards him. They were skinny, with sunken eyes and bodies so undernourished their bones were almost visible. The tribe people’s teeth were red from the blood of the meat and they smelled powerfully of decaying meat. The man strolled towards them, frantic for a bite of anything edible and for civilization. The people started gibbering among themselves, pointing to him as he came closer. A few men came and gazed at him. Soon the whole tribe was watching him. They moved in closer to him, excitedly screeching to each other. A grand man, clearly the chief of the tribe, walked towards the man and held the man’s hands together while making a speech. A young boy came out of the mob, holding a piece of rope and handed it to the chief who started to tie his hands together. The man resisted, and pulled away. When he was free from the chief’s grasp, he tried to break through the group of people that now encircled him. However, as soon as he broke out of the leader’s grasp, the tribe’s men pulled out some razor-sharp stone daggers and made some intimidating swipes toward the man. The man realized what these people were and what they wanted with him. These people were cannibals; they wanted to eat him! He pushed through the people and darted up the hill, hoping there was some place to hide. The downpour fell so heavily, the man could not see where he was going. Behind him, the cannibals were running, faster and faster, screaming to each other, desperate to eat something. The man stumbled over a hill and fell. The clan kept running. Before the vicious inhabitants trampled him, he rolled to the side of the hill. The tribe kept running, chasing no one now, unaware that he was behind the mob.
The man stood up; thankful he was saved--at least for now. He started digging a burrow in the sand under a large hill. His fingers were sore from the coarse sand rubbing against them. His legs were aching from all the running he had done, and he was parched and famished. His heart was still pounding from what he had just been through. The man finished digging and went into the burrow he had just made. At least he had shelter for tonight.





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