Hunger

The sun was shining again, and with it his greatest treasure was vanishing before his eyes. He hated the sun for taking from him the few precious drops of fresh water that the recent rain had left behind in muddy puddles.

It was at times like this that the pull of insanity grew stronger, a siren's song calling him to let go of everything and escape his nightmarish world once and for all... but he couldn't do it. He couldn't let go of the hatred for the man that had abandoned him there, knowing that he would not die.

He wasn't sure how long had he been there, but he knew it had been long enough for his crewmen to escape his vengeance. One more thing he would make MacLeod pay for... he would survive.. he had no choice.

He had few choices -and he was well aware that death was not one of them- but he could choose how to survive, and he had long decided to do whatever it took to fight off dying. So he ate and drank whatever he could, trusting his immortal metabolism to adapt. His throat had been burned countless times as he forced himself to swallow ocean water to avoid dehydration, he fed himself with grass and flies when he could find them, and thanked God whenever a dead fish or some rotting seaweeds washed ashore. Still most of the times even that was denied him, and so he had been forced to seek other forms of nourishment.

Like now. The rain had allowed him to quench his thirst, and it heralded the return of life to his forgotten island, but his hunger was almost unbearable.

He stared down at his thigh anticipating the pain. He knew he would have to do it soon, before he grew too weak to handle his blade or feed himself... with the only kind of meat he knew he could always depend on.