The Feast of the Wolves

I got this idea mainly from "the Lord of the Flies". the last sentence and the title was from "Feasting the Wolf". Basically, some bits are not original.

His grip around his spear tightened. It was nearly a fortnight since they landed, and they were beginning to lose faith in being rescued. The longer they waited, the less possible it seems to be. He glanced at the round moon. It was a fortnight, there was no doubt. He sniffed twice, and an overpowering smell was scented. It was the camp fire. They were roasting an old antelope. It was a tiny one, unlike what he imagined. He always thought that life in the forest would be fun. In books they always describe forest as such wonderful places, and hunting there was no more than hide and seek. But when it comes to real life, it was a different story. If you run too fast, there is a possibility that you will trip and fall on a dead branch. In their first hunt many people met such fates, and the number of people hurt was still increasing whenever they hunt. There were wolves about, posting potential danger to the teenagers, with howls that haunted the dreams of everyone. They were large, about a metre tall, and deadly to the teenagers. One wolf alone could do devastating damages to the whole group, not to mention a whole pack. There were about ten wolves, so when it comes to battling with them, one wolf would have to fight two to three people. Trust me, it was more than enough. They have also reported the sighting of large cats, probably jaguars. In short, it was a dangerous place. He toyed with the spear in his hand for a while. He never thought he would feel like that, but it was a fact. He missed his parents. For the past few years of his life he has always thought that he hated his parents , and they hated him. But he, for some reason, missed them. It was a strange feeling. Missing something you hate so much. Perhaps he doesn’t hate them at all. Perhaps he… …loved them? He then thought of all the things he had done. He cursed them, called them names, insulted them, and said bad things about them. He was, or so he thought, a very bad boy. It was two weeks, two weeks since he last saw them. It felt as if part of his life was missing. A very big bit to. It was as if someone took a bite out of him. It made him feel like crying. But he knew he could not cry, not where he was. There was no point. It would make things worse. They would call him a cry baby, or something like that. He would most probably be isolated from them. They did not understand that in that situation, team work was the most important thing. They thought that all those hunting and surviving was just a game, or a dream that they would soon wake up from. They understood nothing. Just then, a growl was heard from a corner. The wolf pack, it was preparing to strike. He shouldn’t have let his guard down. “Wolf!” he yelled to the rest of the boys. But they were too busy devouring the meat. “Don’t be stupid. You can join the feast if you want, but don’t make us all so tense. You know, you volunteered to do something all of us think is unnecessary,” one of them replied. “Please, it’s true!” he could not stand there any more, he had to run for his life. Without thinking, he ran towards the rest of the teenagers. Their eyes widened, then all hell broke lose. Yells of pain and cries of terror pierced the air. “We must all work together!” he commanded. But no one was listening, either that, or no one had the guts to carry out his plan. A wolf pounced onto him, but he made no resistance. It was all lost. There were just too many wolves, and the wolves were too strong.
The bodies were left to feast the wolves.