Playing With Knives- LoZ

scene 13- useless

Wild had been sitting out of the way for a while, feeling like a waste of space. He watched as some of the others left to hunt, then as they prepared the food. He was given some food, but he only picked at it, not wanting to waste food that he didn't help get. If he ate it, it would be a waste. He wasn't even hungry.

It was funny how usually, he would eat anything, but for the past few days, he just wouldn't eat. He didn't feel the need to.

Wind saw that he wasn't eating and asked,
"Can I have that if you're not gonna eat it?"
He nodded and handed it over, glad that it would be put to good use by being eaten by someone else.

Wind lifted up the meat and was a about to take a bite, but he was interrupted by Twilight.
"Wait, don't eat that yet. Wild, I noticed that you barely ate yesterday, but I didn't say anything because I figured you weren't hungry. Now that you're injured, though, you do need to eat."
"No, I'm fine. I'm not hungry. If Wind wants it, he can have it."

Twilight looked at him silently, unsure of how to respond. Instead, Sky answered for him.
"You need to eat." He moved over next to Wild and spoke softer, "Tell me, why is it you don't want it?"
"I can't eat something someone else prepared while I just watched when I can cook perfectly fine on my own."
"Hm. Well, you can't exactly hunt and cook if you're injured."
"I can, though! I did that plenty of times on my journey. Lots of cooking while hurt. I can manage on my own."
"You don't have to, though. There are other people here to help."
"I can help myself."

Wild stood up and walked away, fists clenched. He didn't care how many people there were. He didn't want to make them use up their resources for him. After he walked a few feet, he paused. He turned around and walked back to the fire. Instead of sitting back down, though, he picked up his sword, which was leaning on the rock he had been sitting on, without pausing. He walked right by the others, walking into the forest, picking up his bag along the way.

What was he doing? He was off to find something to eat. He wanted to get his own food. It wasn't a pride thing. It was that he felt like a useless waste of space when others got food for him. Like an extra mouth to feed.

After walking for a few minutes, he realized that he didn't have a map or any knowledge of the area. He realized that this was a bad idea, but he was too far to give up now. Anyway, he couldn't just go back empty-handed after insisting he get his own food. What would this think of him after that? A hypocritical asshole, that's what. That's also what they'd think if he got lost here, which he was. It was so different in the dark.

He thought he heard the beeping of a guardian, but then he realized it was just an odd-sounding bird. Anyway, how would a guardian get here? He nervously laughed a little, trying to assure himself that he'd be fine. Then he thought he saw a guardian, but it was just a tree with crazy roots. He kept hearing and seeing those goddess-damned guardians, but he knew he was just being paranoid.

He hadn't seen any living things yet. Right when he thought that, he heard a noise behind him. This time, he definitely wasn't imagining it. He turned around and saw a bokoblin. He was disappointed, but at least it was something.

He held his sword out, waiting for the bokoblin to strike. It did, and he parried. He ran over and swung at it, successfully hitting it. It got back up quickly, however, and hit his injury with its club. He shouted and stumbled back. The bokoblin took note of the weak spot and aimed for it again. This time, though, he dodged. Instead, it hit his leg. He didn't pause, and he hit the bokoblin.

After a landing several hits on the bokoblin, it returned the favor by hitting his injury again, much harder this time. Wild yelled out loudly, almost falling to the ground. He hit the bokoblin again, and it hit his injury again. That last hit, although relatively weak, was the straw that broke the camel's back. It made the wound start bleeding again.

Wild's strength was beginning to fade, and each swing was weaker than the last. The bokoblin, however, seemed to be hitting harder than before. Maybe it was because he was starting to weaken, so it just seemed that way, but it was definitely noticeable. Then, the bokoblin hit the injury again, and he he nearly blacked out for a second. It hit it again, getting the same result. Another hit. And another. This bokoblin was beating him to death.

He fell to his knees, another hit sending him to the ground. It hit the wound one last time, and he blacked out.

This was where he died. He would die to a freaking bokoblin. That was his last thought.

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