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Kelley Ellert

Marketing Consultant & Creative Strategist

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The Intrusion of Hidden Hostility Island

The cough buzzed through the trees and into their ears like a piercing screech that couldn’t be ignore. They had lived their entire lives, generations upon generations on that island and they knew the salt water drenched sounds were not coming from one of their own. They knew in the same instant that someone was there.

Someone of a different culture.

A different world.

An outsider.

Intruder.

In unison the men’s naked bodies sprang into complete war mode. There was no hesitation; their small culture couldn’t afford hesitation. They grabbed the whittled and worn wood with fish bones strategically tied to the ends and sprinted. The women scattered as quickly and discreetly as dust from a rug, becoming invisible within mere seconds.

As they approached the tiny beach their feet halted and their shoulders relaxed as their eyes grew wide with confusion. She was unlike the other visitors that had made their way through the deadly reef and rough waters that kept them secluded.

She was unlike the other nosey outsiders they had witnessed prying into their lives with their weird machinery and holding large, black boxes pointed at men wearing floppy, beige hats and speaking into black objects they gripped with their hands.

She was different though. Her tan skin was drenched in blood that continued to poor from her body. Hostility was all they knew. It was the only way to ensure safety, protection and survival.

They knew the stories of their ancestor’s troubled pasts; the tales of large ships, powered by hundreds of wooden arms forcing themselves on the island and stealing their tribesmen. It was a fate they only escaped through hostility and hiding. They knew of the outsiders that had paddled onto the island with foods they had never had only to swipe a some of their women and never return.

This outsider wasn’t like the others. Could they pierce her already wounded skin like they had the others? Was she a threat? Did she carry disease, followers or trouble? As they exchanged glances it was obvious they all felt the same confusion. Would they end her pain and keep their tribe safe or help her? Her dark hair, sad eyes and cries beat upon them with a wave of familiarity. She was too much like the women safely hiding just beyond the trees and too little like the men that had tried to visit before. She had no gadgets, no fancy rags covering her body. Her flesh was bare, like theirs, plus tattered and torn. The men met her eyes and then each others. Collectively they lowered their spears and moved forward without hesitation.

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