They are all little buggers. And that little whiner Ralph, complaining that we aren't contributing, making us choir boys sound oppressive. So what if we don't want to help build those stupid huts. Who needs shelter? What we really need is food, not shelter. That's what we use the barb for, to hunt those nasty little pigs.
I can remember what it was like. The thrill of the hunt, the tendril vines coming down in spirals. The pigs running around wild. the bewildered look on your face seeing how fast and furtive a usually fatly portrayed animal moves. It's inscrutable to see things like that. Then right when you start to attack a glimmer of light comes down from the trees and shines in your eyes. And if you successfully kill a pig you flaunt your kill in front of everyone. Only to see the festoons of flowers that the young kids make when they go and play in the jungle.
Ralph is just not a born leader. All he does now is complain. He needs to take charge. Why, if I were to be leader I would have a full blown civilization by now. Whatever, they are all twits and one of these days I will be leader because it is just a matter of time before Ralp cracks under pressure.
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2 comments:
Interesting story, I like howt he words blend with the sentences, like your not trying to use them (completely ironic I know) flows nicely. Just work on combining sentences.
Great Conclusion! A+! But, I found one little pip-squeak issue:
Similar to another story I read, you failed to include a conversation between Ralph and Jack that said their different points of view. It could have helped your story dramatically.
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