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The night is cold as I trek through the thick foliage provided by the island. I search for food despite not needing it as I have never felt hunger. On any regular night I would find a few snakes or a boar but tonight is different. Tonight I follow a young boy as he hikes with a bleeding nose up the mountain. I have interacted with this boy once before. While I was in the form of a severed and rotting pigs head in the hopes of understanding earthly suffering but alas no avail. I spoke to him through it, told him to return to the others and asked him of his thoughts on me and in return allowed him to question my existence.
I told him how he is to be mine, that we are going to have fun on this island with him as my puppet. It’s truly silly that these boys believe that they can kill me, even as they are afraid of a rotting puppet controlled by the wind. ‘The Beast’ as they have named it is a parachutist's rotting corpse, though only I knew it; until now as the boy, Simon (as I have found whilst searching through his mind before he passed out), lays his eyes upon the puppet of the wind.
The puppet is mangled bones held together by strings of flesh that have remained during its time on the island and the tangled lines of the parachute. It moves as if it were living, the wind giving the impression that it is breathing. There are flies surrounding its face and stomach, the two places on the body that have the most muscle exposed, and its eyes are pecked in from the lucky bird who got to the rancid meal first. At the sight of it Simon is overcome with bile, emptying his stomach off to the side before untangling the lines of the parachute that are trapping it in the trees.
He gives this monstrosity his pity. He is a curious little boy, never horrified nor afraid; not of me, not of the parachutist, not of the other boys on the island. He fears none of the beasts that life has sent his way.
After giving the atrocity his sympathetic thoughts, calling it a ‘poor body’ and a ‘poor broken thing’, he began to descend the mountain having finished untangling the lines of the parachute from the rocks. The journey down was far faster than the hike up, making his way towards the beach. I followed near behind, watching him as my eyes travel from tree to tree making sure to keep up with my body. Rain falls when we are two thirds of the way down the mountain, between the dark wave of night and the clear droplets of water dripping through the canopy makes seeing a difficult task. We continue to travel farther down when we hear traces of noise, it’s quiet from where we stand but regardless we use it as our guide. Approaching the noise we see the sparse yet strong flickering of a fire and the sounds grow louder and clearer.
“ Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!”
Comes the rabid chanting of the savages. They’re circled around a boy, dancing and jabbing around him with spears and spits and clubs. They dance together like this until the boy in the center joins the circle and their chanting takes a constant beat.
“ Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!”
It beats with the thunder, steady, strong, and a warning. It warns others of the existence of lightning and it provides the constant reminder that lightning is the wrath of god ready to judge you for your life. The circle breathes with the rumbling of the chant; it bends and changes constantly and despite the odd movement within the group it moves as one. Taking the form of a demented creature hungry for its prey.
So caught up in their own world they forget that they are not the most powerful, forgetting the unforgiving wrath of god. Lightning hits near the cluster of savages, crackling with power and light. The sudden strike of god startles the group cutting the circle at its weakest link, the boy who holds the most fear.
I watch as they continue their dancing and chanting, completely forgetting about the boy, Simon. He finishes making his way to the group and allows shock to fill his face as he sees the sight of them, living and breathing as one. They dance to kill the beast, so Simon goes in to ease what he sees as fear. He is yelling for their attention trying to get through to them, telling them that there is nothing on this island to fear. The group acknowledges his presence though they don’t see him as Simon, the kind feint little boy who does not fear nature, but instead as a beast stumbling out from the darkness. Their broken circle takes him, surrounded by savages not able to hear reason.
“The beast! The beast is a dead man who was stuck on the hill! There is nothing to be afraid of!” Simon’s shrieking is futile against them.
As they close the circle around him they continue their chanting.
“ Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! Do him in!”
Simon falls to his knees clutching his head in his hands continuing his useless yelling about the beast. He staggered forward, breaking the ring as a means to escape, though he could only go so far before collapsing and falling over the steep edge of the rock and onto the sand near the water. The crowd dive after him and attack using only their teeth and claws because beasts don’t use weapons, they are of nature after all. No words were spoken, only screams and clawing and tearing.
The savages are interrupted from their attack by a heavy downpour of pure uninterrupted rain, it hits the lands and its creatures washing away the sins of the savages. The wind from the rain pushes the now free parachutist from its place. It sways on the high of the mountain before finally being pushed over the edge.
From where the boys stand on the beach the parachutist is visible as it is swept out to sea, the sight of the beast instills fear. They scatter leaving their victim to rot on the beach and after they all clear the space I go to inspect the damage.
Simon, he was to be my living puppet, we were going to have fun in this hell but those plans are no more as I lay eyes on him. He is bleeding out from every scrape on his body, from his legs, his arms, his torso, his face. Chunks of flesh are missing from him, in the shapes of bite marks. His bones are visible through his skin and muscle, and he lays there lifelessly. I examine his face, and his once bright wondrous eyes from the boy who could’ve saved them all were now dead and dull. His nose was mangled and most likely broken, his lips split and bloody. There was a chunk of his cheek missing, exposing his teeth. He had no concious and was simply lying on the sand. His blood sinked into the ground and was pulled away by the water and like the wind had given false life to the parachutist the water gave life to the boy.
His body swayed and turned on the sand, his blood painting a marbled pathway for his broken body to follow. However the low tide of the night wouldn’t be enough to pull him back to the water. So, I took it upon myself to nudge him back towards it, to let mother nature know what she has done. To remind her of the savage nature that she has bestowed on those boys and how she drove them to kill him because he did not share their need for power.
He was different, civilized, a beast to them. I pushed him closer to the sea, just enough for her to catch him and drag him out into open water, making him one with nature once more. Pulled by the moon his silver body disappeared into the night when the reality of the situation settled in. Simon was dead and those boys killed him.
Wilfed had been tied up, waiting for hours, fearing his inevitable punishment. The night before had been a hectic blur, but from what the boy could remember he had eaten at the feast, danced and sang in the circle, and killed the beast. Then he had woken the next morning to his body being dragged across the rocks by two of the other boys in Jack’s tribe. He struggled to get free from their grasp, pulling his wrists and kicking his legs. He yelled at them begging for an answer, but the boys didn’t respond or even pity him with their stares. Once they stopped they tied him up and left him to his lonesome. He battled with the makeshift ropes that imprisoned him, the material irritating the fresh cuts and scrapes that littered his back. He screamed until his lungs gave out and his throat began to tire, only when he gave into his situation did Jack, Roger, and two others holding spears grace him with their presence.
“You, boy, are a weakness,” the chief sneered. “Breaking our circle like that! And for a little lightning no less!”
“But-”
A pebble hit right between his eyes and a light giggling accompanied it in the background made him shut up.
“You ought to be punished,” the chief turned to look at the two boys with spears. “Well? What are you waiting for? Punish him!”
The two boys surrounded Wilfred, cutting off his view of the chief and Roger, and began to hesitantly poke him with their spears. He screamed at them to stop and have mercy on him though his begging only encouraged their assault. They poked and stabbed him until he had blood seeping out of every pore, leaving no clear patches of skin left on his body. The boys had bloody hands and sadistic smiles plastered on their faces as they watched the life drain from their victims body laughing as his body slumped over signaling its defeat. Off in the not so far distance a pair of eyes watched their display of savagery, waiting for the perfect moment to enact its plan.
The beast watched their savage display of power over a fellow tribesman, the very tribesman who broke open the circle allowing Simon to fall in. In their opinion they would say the boy, Wilfred, deserved this punishment, a death for a death. Though they also knew that this was not right. So, they gathered the knowledge held by those on the mainland, the moral compass of men who fight for their country and fellow comrades, and the fear of punishment held in those awaiting the death penalty for committing murders. They took this information and stored it inside of fruits ready to be consumed by two unsuspecting murderous savages. They laid the fruits among others similar to them in a bush nearby, then subtly leading the two towards the bush watched as they picked the fruits made for them. They watched as their eyes widened and their faces filled with the fear and knowledge of society. Poisoned by the knowledge they now held the realization of what they had done. They looked to their hands for comfort only to be confronted with the spears and blood of their victim. In a hast they dropped the weapons and cried. Cried for they were savages and nothing could change what they had done.
They feared what awaited them back at the camp, feared the way they would be outcast for disagreeing with their lifestyle, feared they would become a weakness and be punished the way that Wilfred had been. The two boys feared living with savages. So, they dragged their feet across the rocks and looked out over the glittering sea. Below them the waves roared and crashed against clay colored rocks that had worn over the years. Time stilled as the boys took their final breaths, stepping off the ledge and into the abyss that would welcome them. Their bodies swept away by the current, their blood painting the rocks, and their lives forgotten to the winds.
Later that night I stalked a small group of the small savages as they went to ambush the camp of two other small savages and two boys similar in everything they do. From what I had gathered earlier they were going to steal their fire from them and use it to roast their feast and they decided on taking a small group of four boys, Jack, Roger, Maurice, and James. It was not my intention to stop them or even interfere, my mission was to simply enlighten as many as I could. I followed the group as they left Castle Rock, as they had called it, and made their way down to the beach. Once they entered the thicket I gifted the boy, James, with doubt and knowledge. I know that this won’t be enough to drive him mad, though it is a good start.
The small group easily made their way down to the beach and took what they had come for chanting and whispering as they did so. The boys began to make their way back though as predicted the doubt in James’ mind had begun to simmer and was now meeting its boiling point. They were walking in two groups of two, Roger and Jack in the front with Maurice and James farther behind. James stopped and turned to Maurice.
“Are we doin the right thing here?”
Maurice was clearly caught off guard by the sudden defiance of belief.
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean us killin and stealin, for what?”
Jack and Roger were far out of sight by now leaving the boys by themselves.
“D’you mean you’re doubting the chief?!”
“No!-maybe? I don’t know, okay. It’s just-”
Maurice had had enough of James’ babbling and gripped his spear tight in his fist as I sent his impulsive thoughts to the forefront of his brain. Before he knew it Maurice had sent his spear straight into James’ chest far enough for the tip of it to be hidden completely under his skin.
“I had enough of your yapping. Doubting the chief and the tribe! Thinkin we’re stupid, aren’t you?”
James was gasping for air trying to forget about the sharp pain in his chest.
“Your crazy-”
Maurice, anger writhing under his skin, pulls his spear out from James’ chest only to plunge it further into his stomach driving the end through till it could be seen on the other side of his body.
“Told you I had enough of your yapping!”
He struggled pulling his spear from his stomach and watched as the body fell to the ground. The wound seeped with hot blood, turning the grass a bright crimson. Maurice watched the color drain from his face and onto the ground with angry satisfaction.
With the first boy finally killed it became time for the second half of my plan to begin. I feed Maurice with fruit giving him the knowledge of his actions and the consequences that would befall him if he were part of any stable society. He falls to the ground with fear, dropping the spear that was in his hands. The anger in his face quickly turns to fear, overwhelmed by his actions and ashamed of his temper. In the back of his subconscious I send a constant chanting meant to persuade him. ‘ Pick up your spear. James was your friend. Justice. A life for a life.’ I pushed this thought process to the front of his brain in an attempt to get his attention, the mental battle a true struggle. Then it happened, he cracked. Letting his mind swarm with the self-destructive thoughts he picked up his spear and laid his body beside his friends letting out an exhausted sigh. His hands shook and tears streamed down his cheeks in anticipation. Letting his hands fall at his sides he released his spear once more to pick up the spear that belonged to James, his friend. Raising the spear over his chest he turned his head toward James and spoke softly.
“I’m so sorry. I-I went too far, b-but I am ready to giv-ve you your justice. A life for a life.”
His voice came out hoarse and vulnerable, something unexpected from the boy who recently murdered his friend out of anger. His breath unsteady as he choked on his tears lowering the spear over his neck. Squeezing his eyes closed he whispered his final goodbyes and jabbed the spear down on his neck feeling the pain of the spear and the guilt of murdering his friend. As the light fades from his eyes he lets his thoughts drift, ‘They were never going to get off of this island.’
The sun was high in the sky by the time my eyes opened, the birds singing, the predators hunting their prey, everything moving along with their lives. That's when I remembered the previous nights happenings, the savages stealing the fire, the brutal murder of a savage, the exhasting mental battle with the murderer, and finally the murdering savages suicide. The need for such rest became apparent with sharp pain infecting my thoughts. I have missed much of the day. Roaming in search of food to distract me from the stabbing feeling in my head I come across four little boys rummaging the forest floor for insects. How curious humans can be, one day they are young innocent souls hunting for little creatures and the next they are savages killing and hunting their comrades and prey. I leave the small children be in favor of finding the older boys and wreak havoc among their little minds.
I find the boys on their Castle Rock arguing over silly mortal things they called glasses and their fire. A couple of times it became physical and they attacked one another but those instances were quick and few. I could have interfered several times but today felt different and I decided to let them be, allow human nature to run its course and simply observe. I watched their screaming match and inspected the reactions that certain actions drew from the on looking boys. Cheering along with their chief and following orders almost as if it were second nature and capturing the two innocent little boys. Other boys dawned their weapons ready to attack when suddenly a rumbling noise shook the earth and a great rock was descending from the top of the cliff. It was aimed to plow anything that stood in its way without second thought. The first thing it would collide with would be one of the outcast savages, Ralph, but he moved quickly and swiftly out of the way to avoid the brush with death. The next thing it would hit was a fat, weak little savage who was not nearly as agile as the first. He did not budge to avoid being in the way of the rock and it crashed into his side from his knee to his chin. The momentum pushed him up off the ground and into the air and the loud shell he held, protecting it in his arms, shattered into millions of small white fragments. The boy high in the air had not a chance to utter a noise before he was falling rapidly back down, dragged by gravity. His body smashed on his back into a square red rock out at sea. Fluids oozed from his head and red painted his body. His arms and legs flinched slightly, like a pig who had just been killed. White and pink sea foam crashed against the rock nudging the body that rests atop it. Back on the cliff several pairs of young eyes peered out at the sight, some with no remorse. A voice broke the silence.
“See? See? That's what you'll get! I meant that! There isn't a tribe for you anymore! The conch is gone-,” The chief, Jack, howled before bounding forward. “I’m chief!” he yelled before throwing his spear at the outcast, Ralph, piercing the skin on his ribcage before falling off into the ocean. The crowd behind him erupted with noise, yelling and cheering with their spears in hand. Several released their spears to strike Ralph, missing as he dodged and swerved like an animal. Nearling missing each pointed spear tip that was vaulted his way. He reached the forest when the chief called for them to turn back to the fort.
Ralph was tired and scared, his body needed rest but he feared the dangers that would come for him during those hours of unconsciousness. Though he was filled with fear he held as strong as he could and waited out until nightfall. Seeing this boy clearly exhausted I decided to pity him and let him be, though this shall not be the same for all. I turned back to the tribe searching for those fearful thoughts held by those stunned by the death of the fat pig boy. I amplified that shock till it consumed their thoughts. Forcing them to look out at the body, disgusted by it and though they felt the guilt of a murder they couldn’t bring themselves to do anything with it. Simply letting it simmer in their heads what they had witnessed and leaving myself to rest for days.
Darkness swallowed the island, engulfing everything in its cold grasp. Ralph had emerged from his hiding place, meeting up with his old friends, Sam and Eric. They spoke about the dangers that awaited him tomorrow when the sun rises, how Roger had sharpened his spear on both ends, how he had been outcast, and how the two boys were being treated horribly by their peers. They gifted him with food before warning him to hide as someone could be heard coming. Ralph hid in a nearby thicket spear at the ready while the boys were being interrogated about their loyalty to the tribe. It didn’t take long for the darkness to swallow Ralph as well, pulling his mind into a light sleep, ready to wake at a moment's notice. Back up on Castle Rock Sam and Eric were being questioned about the boys asleep in the bush.
“Where you hiding him? Huh! ,” Jack questioned. “I know you know!”
Sam and Eric were tied to each other surrounded by the tribe at the back, Jack in the front, and two hunters with spears at his sides.
“...” The boy's silence remained silent.
They had been questioned on Ralph since their scrap of meat had disappeared with no bone to be found. The chief was getting angry with their lack of cooperation signaling to his hunters to poke them with their spears. Stepping forward the hunters lowered their spears and pushed them into their sides to be accompanied by screeches of pain. Chief held up his hand to pause their assault and continue his questioning.
“If you ain’t gonna cooperate, then we don’t need both of you,” the chief signaled for the hunters to grab Eric and drag him over to the fire. “At least this way you’ll be useful.”
One of the savages grabbed a club and hit him over the head as hard as he could, Eric’s body dropping to the ground. He tied his limp body to a long stick making sure to secure his arms and legs. Him and the stick are hoisted up above the fire meanwhile Sam is begging and pleading for them to stop.
“You tell us where he’s hide’n and we’ll take him off the fire,” the savage chief taunted Sam.
“Fine! Fine! Just take him off and I’ll tell you!”
“Good,” the chief motioned for them to remove him from the spit and lay him on the ground. “Now tell us where he’s hide’n!”
“He’s hidden in the thicket down there,” Sam said, nodding his head towards the edge of the cliff. “Now let him go.”
“Ok. Roger, let him go.”
Roger knelt down to Eric grabbing the makeshift ropes that attached him to the spit and walked dragging the boy behind him. Then he let go, and Eric's body fell down the side of the cliff and splashed in the water below. Sam's breath stopped as he watched his twin brother falling. He was surrounded by savages.
The next morning the tribe stalked with their spears and clubs down to the thicket where Ralph was said to be hidden. Looking at the brush up and down Jack spoke.
“Are you certain?” Jack asked Sam in a hushed voice.
Sam swallowed his nerves and nodded his head.
“If you’re fooling us-” spoke Roger before jabbing his weapon at Sam who let out a squeal of pain.
“You’re sure he meant in there?”
Sam nodded his head accompanied by a groan of affirmation.
“He meant he’d hide in there?”
“Yes–yes–oh–!”
The words were accompanied by knowing laughter. The boys climbed back up the cliff to their chief's command and positioned themselves behind a boulder.
“Heave! Heave! Heave!” Jack commanded the savage and the red rock that once sat sedentary utop the cliff disappeared from its resting place. It crashed down, rattling the earth and rolling down toward the beach. The crowd cheered at the destruction it left in its wake until the damage was examined and the chief raised his hand to silence the crowd. And once more.
“Heave! Heave! Heave!”
Silence, as the savages struggled to move the second bigger boulder.
“Heave! Heave! Heave!”
This time the boulder rocked from its place shaking the earth as it made contact with the ground. Ralph was shot out of his hiding spot and into the air to the surprise of the hunters. He dashed as fast as possible against the trees to a new hiding spot to rest. The hunters not too far behind sent groups to search for him in different directions. Peering through a bush a hunter spots a spot of flesh colored rock and decides to investigate, poking his spear at the oddity. Before the tip of the spear could make contact another exited the foliage towards the hunter.
“Aaa-ah!” yelled the outcast jabbing his spear around, twisting it in his hands.
“Ooh-ooh-”
The pear made contact with the hunter's outstretched arm sending shocks of pain through it.
“See? I told you–he’s dangerous,” one of the hunters spoke while the other groaned in pain.
Visible from his hiding spot a hunter sees Roger holding up a bundle of grass and sticks above the fire. It catches the flickering light sending smoke high into the air before he discards it into the greenery nearby.
“No!” one of the hunters yells, though they are too late as the ground is engulfed in flames.
A manic laughter erupts from Roger as he watches the fire spread to the trees and the smoke rise.
“Smoke!” someone yelled looking from the fire and smoke and then back at Roger.
Off in the distance the water sliced apart to make way for a monster alien to the sea.
The hunters mesmerized by the fire Ralph took the opportunity to find a new spot to hide himself. As he searched he could hear the rush of the building fire and the roar of the monster in the water.
Awoken from his slumber the beast took in his broken island engulfed in flames. ‘Those little savages create nothing but destruction so they will learn from their misdeeds.’ The beast took the fire and spread it. Far and wide it would sweep the whole island clean of those monsters and leave nothing but ash in its wake. Taking a mental map of the boys they found that they were nearing the beach, the beach where the fire would not affect them. They had to make their work quick. Spreading the fire as fast as possible, from tree to tree, being carried by the wind and the branches, the island submerged in the red heat of the fire. Screams could quickly be heard by many of the boys who set foot on the isle.
Back near the beach under a mat of creepers Ralph panicked as he met the eyes of a hunter. Overwhelmed by emotion he screamed out in fear and anger pushing his legs stiff underneath him and ran straight for the beach. He ran under vines and branches that had caught aflame, past trees left in ruin before stumbling over an outstretched tree root. His body crashed into the sand as the fire touched one of the shelters near his right and he let out a cry for mercy.
Tilting his head up his eyes saw a tall pair of legs clothed in navy blue pants and feet covered in shiny black shoes. Above it stood a jacket adorned with shiny medals with striped ribbon and at the top lay a white topped cap and above its green bill rested a crown, an anchor, and gold foliage.
A naval officer stood on the sand looking down at Ralph with a look of worry and awe. Far behind him lay the monster that split the waters and up on the shore sat a smaller monster that had a gray case surrounding air and a white bottom and at the end was a big black box that would roar when active. Giving Ralph another once over he spoke.
“Hullo”
Ralph sat uncomfortably under the man's stare now conscious of his filthy appearance. Ralph replied shyly.
“Hullo”
The naval officer nodded his head at Ralph, acknowledging him.
“Are there any adults-any grownups with you?” the officer asked, dumbing it down for him to understand.
Ralph shook his head with a blank expression on his face. The fire licked coconut palms near the beach and engulfed them noisily while another strand of fire flipped to the head of the palm. The smoke painted the sky black.
“We saw your smoke. What have you been doing? Having a war or something?”
Ralph nodded again stiffly. The officer looked him over, he was in desperate need of a bath, clean clothes, a haircut, and a good amount of medicine.
“Nobody killed, I hope? Any dead bodies?”
At this Ralph’s eyes began to water. So much had happened on the island from the hunting of the pig to them hunting him but most memorably to Ralph had to be the death of Simon and his best friend, Piggy, and who knows how many others. The officer turned his body to face the open water, giving him some privacy. Looking back at the island Ralph couldn’t tell how many survived that fire, then he realized what he had heard while hiding must have been the fire, the ship’s horn, and the screams of pain from the hunters. ‘ How many died?’ Overcome by emotion his watery eyes quickly transformed into wild sobbing. ‘I let them die. I said I was going to get them off the island!’ consumed by his thoughts Ralph hardly noticed the was a small tap on his shoulder. To his right stood two littluns and on his left stood one more littlun accompanied by a kneeling Sam, all sobbing alongside him. ’They escaped the fire, they’re alive. I didn’t completely fail us! Sam and these littluns still survived on this hellish island! I didn’t completely fail as chief. I managed to at least get some of them back to safety!’ Ralph couldn’t believe that they had made it out so relieved by the sight of them he nearly missed when the officer spoke again.
“We’ll take you off. Who’s the boss here?”
Wiping his tears Ralph took a step forward, closer to the officer.
“I am,” Ralph said through a hoarse voice that sounded like someone had cried for hours.
“We saw your smoke. What are your names?”
“I’m Ralph. That’s Sam and those three are–are,” they had never asked what the littluns are called, only ever referring to them as littluns.
“You don’t know their names?” he asked, staring at Ralph as he shook his head. “I should have thought. I should have thought that a group of British boys–you’re British, aren’t you?--would have been able to put up a better show than that–I mean”
“It was like that at first,” Ralph interrupted. “before things–”
He stopped.
“We were together then–”
The officer nodded as a silent way to encourage him to continue.
“I know. Jolly good show. Like the Coral Island.”
Behind his eyes Ralph saw the flashing images of the island when they had first arrived before Jack had–but looking back at the island again it was scorched. Pictures of Simon before he had–. Ralph once again cried. This time letting his body wrack with sorrow. His voice is dry and full of emotion. Around him the other boys begin to cry with him. Looking each boy over Ralph spots a familiar shape attached to one of the littluns waistbands. As the sobs consume his body it clicks, he knows what that is. It’s Piggy’s specs. The last surviving piece of his best friend on this wasteland island. He reaches out to grab them from the boy and holds them tight to his chest. ‘I did it Piggy, I’m going home.’