The Castaway

The boy crouched, hidden under the boat which had washed ashore that morning. It was just the cover he needed to escape the blistering daytime heat. It would also prove useful to hunt later that night. 

He was starving, having only eaten coconuts, breadfruit, and various grubs he had found underneath the bark of some of the trees. A growing boy couldn't survive on that stuff; he knew he had to have more protein if he were to build his strength.

He waited until golden dusk descended on the island, all the while whittling the spears and arrows he would need to capture his dinner that evening. He had seen them in the jungle, and he knew he could be prey himself, so he wasn't so dumb as to leave himself unarmed. 

The chattering of the pack carried, muffled through the thick brush.

A tribe of roughly 10 emerged from the jungle, weapons ready. If the boy made a single noise, he'd be done for. They had numbers, but the boy had the element of surprise. 

As they approached the boat, he lashed out with his spear, taking two of them down with a single swipe, their arteries gushing. He upturned the boat, knocking back at least four more. He dove, artfully shooting another three with his bow and arrows. By the time the fight was over, there was only one villager left, clawing pathetically in the sand back toward the village. 

"Sorry, man. Can't let you tell the others I'm here." The boy impaled the villager between the shoulder blades. 

After some prep and storage, the boy had enough meat to last him at least another month.

Until some unsuspecting soul came to rescue him.