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The lap of the waves was subdued on the smooth wetness
of the light brown sand. Not a sign of life was to be seen on the water. The
only movement was a pair of gulls that soared smoothly overhead, crying softly
as they moved over the shoreline in search of sustenance.
Hungry eyes scanned the sea, but once again they were
disappointed. Five weeks! Five weeks since life had appeared to feed the man on
shore. The last stew had been made, the last bone broken and cleaned of marrow
more that a week ago. Hunger was raging, hunger that a few clams or a small fish
could not satisfy.
The man knew there were choices. He knew of the
Outside World and all that went with it. Unlike other practitioners of his
lifestyle, he had entered it by choice and not by chance. After a time he became
unable to change, tied by invisible chains that bound him to a stigma. What had
started as a couple of curios and a picture in a book had become a run away
train which could not be derailed.
What was that? The keen eyes zeroed in on the minor
hum in the distance. So slight that it might have been made by an insect, the
noise captured all the watcher's attention. Yes, it was nearing! Hope glowed in
the eyes, hope and a hunger going beyond a body's physical needs.
As it came closer the boat showed as a flexible
rectangle propelled by an outboard motor. And the pilot was a woman, a blond
haired, white clothed answer to his hopes. Perfect!
Once the man had thought of begetting young, but it
occurred to him that they would simply become competition and had given up such
thoughts. He had tried out the physical contortions once and had thought it all
right, but not worth losing your head over. That one had been a blond, too, and
the first day was okay, but the second less so and the aromas were becoming
unpleasant. Perhaps he was missing something of the process. Maybe the blond
should have been alive.
He shook his head. Seemed doubtful. If that were the
case men would go around scratched to pieces. No, it just wasn't what it was
cracked up to be. And he remembered how the taste had suffered, because he had
not cut up the body for two days and it had nearly spoiled. Not again.
He tried to project his mind to the approaching woman.
Yes, she was coming, she was going to land on this lonely but beautiful beach
and once again he would be rewarded for his patience. He smiled, and his
handsome face looked like a clone of the Redford/Pitt school of good looks. He
was his own decoy, for the prey came rushing to him to learn firsthand the
lessons of a lost soul.
Long light brown hair sweeping softly over his
shoulder, he walked down the beach to meet her.
"Why, hello, I didn't know anybody was on this
island. Is it okay for me to land?"
It had been many, many years since he had spoken and
he did not want to risk alarming her. So he simply nodded and smiled his warm
smile. She nearly melted at the sight. Sensing his advantage, he moved forward
and swept her into his arms. She hungrily returned the embrace.
He didn't need the knife at his belt. His powerful
arms snapped her neck like a child breaking a twig. He carried her to the tree
line, then returned to look for sign of what Outside Tribe she was from. The
boat had the word Avon printed on it, but he had never heard of such a place.
The boat itself was pliable; filled with air. He loaded it with rocks, paddled
it two hundred yards from shore; then slashed it with his knife and swam back to
his dinner.
He dragged her to the edge of his fire pit and dropped
to his knees beside her. A scurry of movement behind him made him jump, and just
in time, for a man came out of nowhere swinging a machete. His swing missed and
the tip hit the head of the dead woman.
"Oh, Suzie, NO. I didn't mean to." He
collapsed beside her, sobbing uncontrollably.
The Native was outraged. How dare this Outside Tribe
man come to his beach to steal what he had taken? He roared his disapproval and
rushed the OutOfStater. He scored a blow to his target's temple and laid him
out.
This done, he tried to figure out where the Outsider
had come from. Aha. On the beach was a board with a sail. It had no keel to
speak of so it could come right up to the beach. On the sail was printed an
Outside Tribe the beachman had seen before. New Jersey. This tribe often stayed
at the Point called Pemaquid and sailed the three miles to his island. It had
made a good life for the self made cannibal. This was the first time he had ever
had trouble with....
WHACK
No pain accompanied the swift sound, but when the
cannibal looked down his right arm was missing from the elbow down. He swung
around to stare into the wide open and vacant eyes of the Outsider. The man's
mouth was wide open and a river of drool spilled unheeded over his chest. Again
the arm with the machete rose, and when it came down the head of the Native
Mainer was rolling on the sand. The New Jersey man picked up the forearm and
started to gnaw.
Apparently, a new cannibal had just been born.
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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