We been here too long, the layer of dirt on our bodies has become a sight I'm too used to seeing. My clothes are caked in my own juices, a stiff brine stuck to by body. My hair has grown into an unruly mop, that may have even been used in the dun hallways of my old school it's so knotted and clumped. No one is impervious to the wear and tear of the island, it's ten times worse than any stains I could get in rugger. But nothing mattered, nothing could disrupt the flight of my spear.
It sailed through the air and hit that boar. I hit him, I hit that boar, my spear flew the air, and I hit him. Then when Robert was the boar, I hit him too. We caged him, and we killed that boar. Robert was a good sport too, letting us kill him. In that circle we didn't let the pig go, it didn't get away. We caught that boar and we slaughtered it, "Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!" The drums were pounding in my veins, the chaos of the kill, I tried to get closer to close in for the kill. But I couldn't in time, and Jack got to be the one to kill it.
The idea for a ritual is great, but maybe making a littl'un get killed is going a little too far. Still we could pretend with a littl'un, that would be great. Maybe then I'll get the kill. But we can't think about that. Not with that beast on the mountain. I saw it with my own two eyes. It was dark yes, and we were kind of far away, but there is no doubt in my mind the beast is there. It's watching, an waiting sitting by our fire. I wasn't being windy, the beast was sleeping then it looked up strait at me, with it's big black eyes. I saw it, Jack saw it, and Roger saw it, and none of us stopped to look back.
I can't wait to get off this island, I'm tired of the beast. I'm tired of the dirt, I'm tired of being cheif. I just want to go home. I can see home, in my dreams, when I wake. I just want to be home again.
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