A/N: This comes from a creative writing project I did for an English class years ago. It's one part String of Conciousness, 2 parts character study, and one part poem-ish. On with the show!
Reviews would be greatly appreciated.
Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones.
He needed reassurance. He wanted power. But he couldn't attain them alone. He wanted to be a leader, but he couldn't bring himself to it. He thought his heart weak for it. So instead, he followed. Followed the bloodlust. Followed the pig and the paint. Followed all the rules that weren't, and shunned the ones that were.
Now he was second only to one. Only Chief didn't fear him. Only Chief did he fear. Chief, and rejection. He was the terror in the eyes of those who disobeyed the leader. The ones who tried to resist.
Hidden and painted he was, for all to see.
Apprehensive and indisposed, too, though he would never let them know it. Not now that he'd finally broken down the barrier that had held him back so in the earlier days. Not now that he had power, power so near to that which he craved.
Nobody, even he, knew where the desire had come from. Perhaps the extent to which he had been unknown, nameless, insignificant to others before the island. Maybe others had treated him with less respect than they should have, because of the color of his skin. Perhaps it had even been a part of him that had always been there but had remained dormant. His beast. His burden.
He'd show them, though. One day. He'd show them all. He wasn't afraid of a little blood on his hands. He wasn't worried about what some puny little children thought. The real beast didn't even scare him. No. Not now. Not now that he had finally had the courage to aim his rocks at a target.
Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Do not sue.