Broken

Cannibal Country

After my unlucky capturing at the hands of cannibals, I had managed to escape my desert prison. With my duster on my back once again, I was ready to leave The Great Desert. I had to make it to Drymouth. Drymouth was filled with resilient people, most of them either running from something or travelling for work. Currently, I was in Deathwish. Cannibal country. Deathwish is the worst place on the island, filled with miles upon miles of crucified corpses, cannibals, and rabid dogs looking to eat anything that moves. Now that I had my gear, I needed a weapon. Any cannibal smart enough to survive Deathwish wouldn't just leave weapons laying around. I would have to fight with my bare fists for a weapon. After hanging for days in rags, I was glad to have my gear back. My father's old combat boots stopped my feet from burning on the sand. Those old jeans protected my sun burnt legs from the sun, and my duster made me look like a bad-ass. 

My wrists still bleeding, I noticed I would need medical supplies to prevent infection. luckily, the cannibal had stockpiled stolen goods from his victims. I grabbed as much as I could carry and stuffed it into my right duster pocket. I would patch up my wounds as I walked.

I heard the cackling of a fire, that meant two things. Food, and human eaters. I followed the noise of sparks popping until I reached the fire. A massive, bulky cannibal sat at the fire. Stirring a pot. He raised his eyes and met mine. "Hey there, corpse-eater" I said, talking for the first time in days. My conversation attempt was met with nothing more than a grunt. He reached for the steel falchion he had stolen from me. Little did he know I kept a survival knife in my duster's left pocket, just in case. 

He rushed at me, holding the falchion with two hands. He approached me, swinging the sword like a short sword, but holding it like a claymore. Even with his lack of skill, I was at a vast disadvantage in the armaments department. I held the small knife in my left hand, with my right hand ready at my side. He swung the falchion sideways, as I ducked under his attempted strike, Using my leg, I swept him to the ground. With my duster flailing in the air, I kicked my leg into the sand, pushing me into a standing position. The cannibal dug my falchion into the ground and stood up. He grunted once again, this time in an angry tone.

This time, he resorted to his raw strength to defeat me. He started charging at me, I attempted to push my knife into his shoulder, as he knocked into me. I was flung into the air, and flew up against the wall. He stood and pulled the knife out of his muscle. He took a heavy breath and dropped it to the ground. With me on the ground, he tried to take another swing. I pulled myself to the right and used my knee to stand up. The cannibal was frustrated, his feeble mind didn't allow him to understand why I was still alive. I rushed to the knife and dipped down to pick it up. Using his own move against him, I charged the cannibal. Knocking him onto his back, I swung the kunai into the cannibals ribs. Once it was firmly planted, I turned my hand sideways and pulled the kunai, making sure to damage as much tissue as possible. The cannibal gasped, as his lungs filled with blood. I moved to the right and picked up my falchion. Holding it in both hands, I inspected it. Like my duster, this sword had kept me alive through the Western Rockies, Southern Marshes and much more. I stood up, walked to the campfire and was surprised to find no human meat in the pot. He had brewed vegetable soup, I guess cannibals needed nutrients too. I sat into the sand and ate the soup with the ladle. It was actually pretty good. With some medicine in my pocket, soup and water in my belly, and some gear on my back, I turned south and starting walking south, once again.