Getting Married!  Whooooo!!!

i wrote a short story if anyone wants to read it, its good and i just want to know what u guys think?

Short Story
A man was out hunting when an arrow whizzed past his left ear and embedded itself in a tree directly behind him. The man’s name was John, and he was an English trader who was out hunting in the forests of an unknown island. John was almost six feet tall with light brown hair and brown eyes. He was well built and had a kind face. He was almost thirty and was the captain of a ship named “Condor”. He and his men had stopped for food on this island, not knowing where it was but knowing they were starving. He fell to the ground and rolled over; he started crawling on his hands and knees away from the direction whence the arrow had come. He looked up to see strange men, all tall, darkly skinned, wearing feather hats and loin cloths. They were closing in around him from all sides. All carried weapons, either spears or bows and arrows. John felt hopelessness wash over him as he watched them descend toward him. John was trapped. He was in terrain that looked oddly similar to a large crater covered in strange unfamiliar bushes and trees. The sun was blocked and it was quite dark where John lay. He watched as the men grew closer. He thought he recognized them from stories back home, “Indians” he said softly to himself. At least 50 of them, he thought and all I have is a rifle and twenty-five bullets.Then he thought of his men who were back at the ship, waiting for him to return with a fat deer. They would be making a warm fire and a few simple repairs. John had told his crew if he wasn’t back in two days they should try to find him. Fat lot of help that is thought John. As he considered his options he realized he could either try to hide, fight, or surrender. None of these actions seemed very pleasing to him as he mulled them over in his head. Fighting was out of the question; there were twice as many Indians as he had bullets. John was sure they were Indians by this time. He thought about hiding, but knew it was futile. They would find him; he could tell. They looked like just the kind of people who would be expert trackers. John had only one choice. He took it. John stood up.

He was tied to a pole in the middle of what he could only assume was the Indians’ camp. They had oddly shaped houses made of straw, and the same odd bushes were there that John had seen back in the canyon. He tried to remember what had happened since he had decided to stand, but there was a splitting pain on the top of his head. He also thought one of his ankles was broken, but he was too delirious to tell which one. He tried to remember what had happened, and how he got where he was, wherever that was. Flashes of memory rushed back to him. He saw the men sprinting down the hills. He remembered dropping his rifle and raising both his hands high above his head. He remembered turning and seeing, as if in slow motion, an Indian who must have been pushing seven feet, about to club him over the head. Then everything went black. So that’s how I got here he thought, I wonder how long I’ve been here and if my men are looking yet. John then took a closer look at his surroundings. He saw the pole he was tied to was not just a pole; it had faces carved into it. Totem pole he thought. Then he looked more closely at the huts. They were quite ingenious; the way that the roofs had been made stopped rainwater and wind coming in, giving quite a bit of warmth to the hut. His vision was blurry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw people, mostly women and children, peering at him from around the sides of their huts or the trees. As John waited for something to happen he slipped in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely conscious of someone feeding him, but he wasn’t sure.
Eventually he saw a man approaching. He must have been 7 feet tall and strongly muscled. He wore a loincloth. His skin was dark, and he had the blackest eyes John had ever seen. He carried a miniature axe, which John realized was a tomahawk. It looked like a toy in the man’s hands. There seemed to be blood on it, but it wasn’t fresh; it was dried and old looking. He must not have cleaned it since the last time he killed something. Maybe some kind of weird ritual… thought John. The man drew near, and behind the giant Indian walked a short man. John was shocked. He was the first short man John had seen on the island. He wore a robe that covered his whole body except his right arm. The man was no taller than five feet, so he was totally dwarfed in comparison to the other men around him. He appeared to be at least 70 years old, and he wore a hat that was like a crescent moon with seven feathers one red, one orange, one yellow, one green, one blue, one indigo, and lastly, one violet. John suddenly realized they were the colors of the rainbow. He only had time to wonder vaguely how they did that, when he saw the short man walk toward him, and he blacked out again.
The next time he woke up night had fallen, and the stars were out. More stars than he had ever imagined there could be, all incredibly bright. John felt stronger; he sat up and looked around. The inhabitants of the village were sitting around a fire and what a giant fire it is thought John and the colors! The fire was not just a reddish orange, but there was blue, and what a blue it was. So bright, so overpowering, it was as if the ordinary red of the fire had been drowned completely out and been replaced by this magnificent blue. John sat amazed for minutes, and then he shook himself. He became aware of singing; it was a beautiful but terrifying sound. It struck fear into his heart, and it made him feel weaker and more hopeless, however John knew somehow that the song was having the exact opposite effect on the Indians. As he grew weaker and more fearful they grew stronger and more courageous. John watched them for a while longer, then he noticed that the song seemed to grow louder and more overpowering. John noticed that the blue flame was growing stronger too. It was growing hotter and taller. He could feel the heat of it on his face.
The chief stood and started walking towards him. He grabbed John by his coat and lifted him with sudden shocking strength. The chief carried him for a moment. Then he slammed John into tree. John felt his spine crack and then he was lifted again, this time by many hands. They lifted him and carried him to a large flat rock and bound him down, so he couldn’t move even a pinky. They had tied down all but his head and neck, which were left to swivel from side to side. He saw a large knife lying to his left then it was lifted out of his vision. John knew what was coming, John saw a flash of silver then pain seared John’s right side. It was pain, but it was less than John imagined it should be. John thought, then he remembered the bullet cartridges that lay across his side just where the Indian was stabbing him. The Indian struck again in the same place, and John felt the same pain but again, less than it should have been. John was sure he was going to die soon, however. He saw the angle of the blade was different this time it was heading right for his heart. There was another flash. The knife was coming down again. This time surely it would kill him. The knife was within an inch of John’s heart.
Suddenly a loud crack rang out through the valley and the Indian who had been killing him fell on top of John. The knife spun out of the Indian’s hand and bounced off the rock twice before it fell imbedding its point in the ground. John felt the sweat from the Indian spray onto his face. He saw blood spatter. There was a bullet in the Indian’s forehead. Then everything happened at once. Arrows flew. He heard screams and yells some of which he recognized as English. Slowly John began to realize what was going on. His men had come to save him. He felt his lashings being cut, and he stood. There were still people yelling, arrows flying, and bullets whizzing, but he knew he would be safe now. He was bleeding from the wound in his side. He could feel the man who had rescued him at his side. The man was guiding them back into the forest where the Indians had captured John. The man was supporting John. It took John a while to recognize him in his weakened state and the dim light, but then at last he recognized Mark, one of his closest friends. Mark was a short man but very stocky and strong. He had black hair and blue eyes and a kind trusting nature. John was overjoyed to see him again. He tried to thank him and tell Mark what had happened, but all that came out were mumbles and faint grunts. Mark didn’t notice John’s attempts at speech, however. They weren’t out of danger yet, and he was still focused on getting them out of there. They were all racing out to the boat as the Indians chased close behind. Arrows flew within inches of them, striking the trees and ground all around. Then there was a break in the thickness of trees and John could see the ocean, but better yet John could see the “Condor”. A new hope seemed to grip the crew and their pace quickened they began to run faster, but it still wasn’t fast enough. The Indians were right on their heels. The “Condor” was waiting about twenty yards out, and there was a good wind. John was shocked at first to find himself in the water. He began to struggle and splutter, but as he felt himself being dragged towards the ship he stopped and let his rescuer pull him. John was sure it must be over now, but the Indians still had not given up. They had canoes waiting on the beach. John could see some confusion among them while they all tried to get aboard at the same time so they could continue the chase. John knew what was going on now. He swam the last five yards as fast as he could. He was almost the last to reach the ship. Many hands pulled him on board. Ever so slowly they got underway, but the Indians were catching up quickly in three canoes each holding three men. The “Condor” did have cannons but they were rarely used and small. Nevertheless the men readied them and fired. Only one of the canoes was hit; the other two continued on faster than ever. Arrows began to strike the ship. With a hoarse shout of pain one of the crew dropped dead, an arrow through his chest. John began to get mad. He was at the point of fury. When the Indians caught up the men had prepared to be boarded. John drew a sword and a musket and stood waiting, enraged. At that moment the six Indians jumped over the gunwale. Two were shot immediately. They fell with a scream, but the others had gone berserk and were slashing and hewing at the crew. Three men were already dead from the violent attack. John saw this and the anger in his heart grew. He lifted his musket and fired at the back of an Indian who was attacking Peter, one of the younger men of the crew. The bullet drove through his back like a knife through butter. The man fell silently. John reloaded and shot again. This time the bullet drilled through the side of an Indian’s head. The man fell without a scream; he was dead before he hit the ground. With a bone-chilling cry the last Indian charged at John brandishing a spear and a tomahawk. He threw the spear. There was no time to react. It struck John in the belly and stuck left half way. John staggered backwards. The Indian man was still charging him with the tomahawk raised high, all the while screaming his deadly war cry. John lifted his sword and lunged. He drove the point of his blade deep into the man’s chest. The man tumbled over John and they both fell to the deck of the ship. John knew he was seconds from death. Mark rushed up to him trying to see if John could be saved. John thought he heard his name being shouted, but it was so faint. Everything was growing so dark. He could feel himself falling, but he wasn’t frightened. Everything seemed to slow down. John felt relaxed and calm. He felt that where he was going, wherever that was, was a good place, and John died that day with a calm relaxed smile on his face. All pain and hurt he had suffered not only over the past few days, but over his entire life was gone.

Ok, I’m going to critique it pretty harshly, so please don’t take offense, I’m just trying to help:

1. I really like your imagery in some parts of the story, but show instead of tell. (Ex. "A worried shadow passed across the aged face of a tall, handsome man with vivid, sparkling brown eyes." instead of just "John was almost six feet tall with light brown hair and brown eyes.")

2. All throughout the story, (but especially in the first paragraph) you say, "He did this" "He was this" or whatever. Try starting sentences with things other than "he" or "they"

3. If you are going to start your story with action, you have to tell the story, not start us with suspense ("the arrow whizzed past his head") then go into a length description. You may want to start with a little bit of description before plunging into the story. (Ex. John Smith, the distinguished captain of the ship "Candor", was a tall man in his early thirties with light brown hair and eyes that sparkled when he laughed. But today, there was no reason for John to laugh. He and his men where…. *continue background story about being on an island*… Suddenly, John heard a whizzing noise, and an instant later turned, shocked, to see an arrow embedded in the tree behind him.")

4. A lot of times it is easier to be descriptive if you speak in first person (from the perspective of John, not an onlooker)

5. You have several grammar mistakes, many with your commas and dialogue

6. Good use of a variety of vocab.

Great job overall!!!