05-25-2007, 04:48 AM
Slowly climbing to his feet again Pikkon staggered off in an unknown direction not willing to pull out his map and compass from the bag, but preferring chance to anything else. ?Today will surely be my first and last day in this stupid competition,? he thought to himself.
But still determined to keep going the scarred warrior pushed on. As he staggered alone along his new path he felt good as the rain scolded his burns. Suddenly the rain stopped, standing still Pikkon looked upwards towards the heavens. He watched silently as the blackened clouds slowly moved on, the sun glittering, shining light upon the barren battlefield periodically as the departing clouds passed it one by one. Soon the entire sky revealed it?s blue tinge and the sun shone brightly its rays lapping up as much of the earth as it could.
As Pikkon?s face was bathed in sunlight he dreamt of freedom. Moving his single working arm up to his neck, he stroked the metal collar that kept him trapped in this stupid game. Dropping to his knees the green warrior let out a loud cry of hope. The weather had changed and so had his mindset. Even though he was bruised, battered and only had one working arm he knew that he could last longer on this island.
Dropping his broken left arm down lower his duffel bag complied by sliding of and impacting on the muddy ground. Unzipping the bag Pikkon searched through it. ?There has to be something in here that I can use,? he quietly mumbled to himself moving around his only source of support.
One piece of bread left, two canteens of water, a map, a compass, a lantern, nothing in the bag seemed to offer sort of support to the lone warrior. His scouter though a little worse for ware, sporting a slight crack on the visor over his eye was still in working order, and his only weapon a plastic bag was still firmly wrapped up in his pocket.
?What a nightmare I?ve gotten myself into,? he though to himself unable to think of a suitable plan that would enable him to survive any longer on this island.
Guessing his best form of survival was evasion for the time being, he zipped up his bag, climbed back onto his wobbly feet and began again to walk in a direction that he could only hope would bring isolation and not competition. Soon he would plan, soon he would attack, soon he would fight again. But for now healing was in order for the defeated soldier.
But still determined to keep going the scarred warrior pushed on. As he staggered alone along his new path he felt good as the rain scolded his burns. Suddenly the rain stopped, standing still Pikkon looked upwards towards the heavens. He watched silently as the blackened clouds slowly moved on, the sun glittering, shining light upon the barren battlefield periodically as the departing clouds passed it one by one. Soon the entire sky revealed it?s blue tinge and the sun shone brightly its rays lapping up as much of the earth as it could.
As Pikkon?s face was bathed in sunlight he dreamt of freedom. Moving his single working arm up to his neck, he stroked the metal collar that kept him trapped in this stupid game. Dropping to his knees the green warrior let out a loud cry of hope. The weather had changed and so had his mindset. Even though he was bruised, battered and only had one working arm he knew that he could last longer on this island.
Dropping his broken left arm down lower his duffel bag complied by sliding of and impacting on the muddy ground. Unzipping the bag Pikkon searched through it. ?There has to be something in here that I can use,? he quietly mumbled to himself moving around his only source of support.
One piece of bread left, two canteens of water, a map, a compass, a lantern, nothing in the bag seemed to offer sort of support to the lone warrior. His scouter though a little worse for ware, sporting a slight crack on the visor over his eye was still in working order, and his only weapon a plastic bag was still firmly wrapped up in his pocket.
?What a nightmare I?ve gotten myself into,? he though to himself unable to think of a suitable plan that would enable him to survive any longer on this island.
Guessing his best form of survival was evasion for the time being, he zipped up his bag, climbed back onto his wobbly feet and began again to walk in a direction that he could only hope would bring isolation and not competition. Soon he would plan, soon he would attack, soon he would fight again. But for now healing was in order for the defeated soldier.