Disclaimer(s): I don't own anything.
Summary: What makes a savage a savage? *Some AU parts since we don't know much about anyone's past*
I look at the rose in my hand.
'How beautiful and delicate…' I muse. 'Unlike humans.' No matter how we look at it, humans could never even compare to nature. My mother had always loved roses; especially the dying ones. She always said that a dying rose is much more beautiful than a fresh one. The colors bleed and swirl together to make a new vibrant shade. A word came into my mind.
'Savage!' I thought with distaste. 'There is nothing savage about this flower. Or my people!'
That is the human fault. These…stereotypes. What makes a savage a savage? I could consider that the English could be savage. Deserting their fellow man to the confinements of this jungle, separating him from his family. I shake my head.
'Crusoe will get home. I will make sure of it. I owe him that much.'
But my mind wanders back to the word. Why do the English believe we are savage? We have done nothing to them. Crusoe once told me that the word savage meant vicious and wild. That could be said for many people. Like those pirates that come here looking for some fantasy of gold. They are the savage ones.
I look down at the rose in my hand again. The thorns on the sides, thirsty for blood, are what made them dangerous. Dangerous, not savage. Perhaps one day, people could see past the rough exterior of my people and accept them, just as Crusoe did for me. Just like this rose…we could be free of the hatred. One day…
"Friday! Are you down there?" Crusoe called to me.
"I'll be right there!" I responded. I put the rose by the tree and get up to leave; not without noticing one petal fall from the rose.
'Maybe we'll be brothers…just like Crusoe and I.'
Yep! So I LOVED Crusoe and there should be more than two stories there, so here I am!
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