The Cry of The Island

Chapter Five

Flowers of Flesh and Blood.

The evening had drawn closer, the night was beaming like an overwhelming darkness over its prisoners on the tropical. Atticus would walk through the jungle in an attempt to take his mind off of the confrontation. He asked Rocky to stay behind at the camp so that he was safe, and he knew that Rocky didn't like to walk around in the jungle at night anyways.

Atticus hairband was soaked in sweat, though it managed to keep up his long blonde curly hair with a few thick strands hanging over his forehead. Beads of sweat would smother his skin, as he crept down the declivity and glanced his eyes at his surroundings. A dark figure would stand in the distance, spear in hand but his silhouette wouldn't show innocence. Atticus thought to avoid him, walking to his right as he knew this way would soon lead to the beach. He hopped up an incline, hoping Tommy wouldn't hear. He didn't, but it seemed the movements were being matched behind the bushes in the distance.

"I can see you, you know?"

Tommy spoke bluntly.

Atticus briefly froze.

"Okay?"

He spoke, showing his firmness.

"Where you going?"

Tommy asked, looking over as both would keep walking. They had managed to get close enough in proximity, as Tommy looked at Atticus in the darkness.

"To the shops, where are you going?"

Atticus spoke.

Tommy scowled his bloodied face at him.

"I'm going to the beach."

Atticus raised his eyebrows, continuing to walk as he pushed through the tendrils and leaf's.

"Same."
He sniggered.

Tommy spoke, his voice higher than usual.

"Following me? Can I not go to the beach now without you saying something?"

He was clearly agitated.

Atticus didn't turn to look at Tommy.
"No, no. Do what you want. Surprised you didn't bring the others."

Atticus chuckled.

"They're over at my camp, just in case you don't try and raid us."

Tommy scowled whilst speaking as he pushed past Atticus and through the palm openings onto the beach. With a sigh, Atticus would follow behind him with an uncertainty on his frustration.

They walked along the beach, though Tommy seemed to be trailing ahead without any signs of waiting for Atticus. He didn't bother to speed up his walk to catch up to Tommy, as stooping to immaturity seemed unreasonable.

Tommy began to slow down eventually, as Atticus slumped through the sand with the moon beaming down on the cream.

"How's your new shelter then?"

Atticus enquired.

His head was buried into the sand and disinterested in his journey along the beach's capacity.

"Fine."

Tommy bluntly responded.

It wasn't as though he was fazed by his opinion, as his spear dragged along the sand. The surface wouldn't transfer onto the barb, but Atticus watched his feet to avoid any form of contact.

They continued to walk, not a word was exchanged. In the distance, both boys would spot the raft. An animal's figure would lay quite a few metres ahead of it, deeper into the waters. It was hard to make out, but Tommy slightly paused in his movements.