Post by Deleted on Oct 24, 2016 2:04:48 GMT
Luna
He was home, back on the rig and in his room where he remained, sitting on his bed and staring at his hands. He'd been quiet on the way back, which wasn't exactly unusual but the look on his face screamed that he didn't want to talk to anyone. He'd washed his hands in the rivers before he made it back to the shoreline and then back onto the rig but it felt like his hands were still stained with blood.
His shirt was stained with blood and not all of it his. Upon his back was a crudely stitched wound made from a knife. He'd been jumped as he wandered beneath the trees on one of the rare trips further inland. The knife had been dug into his skin and he'd managed to shake off his attacker. They'd tried to kill him, for reasons he had never found out despite asking. Despite telling him that he didn't have to do this. Words had no effect, the guy was deadset on wanting him dead., In order to actually get out of the situation he had been forced to kill. The same knife that had cut him had killed the attacker by cutting into his throat.
The more wiser members of the clan that had been with him hadn't looked at him as if he'd made the wrong choice. Sometimes one was forced into a situation where killing was the only way. It wasn't something they enjoyed but it was a fact of life. But to make sure that a death was the only solution and while it had been for Derrick, he still felt the guilt run deep into his very soul. What gave him that right to choose? But also, why should he simply lay down his life and be killed when he had so many that depended on him?
Kill or be killed. That was the way. Not the only way mind you. It was those who thought it was okay to kill others, who forced them into a situation that had no desirable outcome. He trembled, the pain in his back far less than the pain in his heart and mind.
