DragnFire22
02-05-2004, 08:31 PM
Won't make sense unless you've read the book. ;)
Sand worked its way into his wounds as Ralph pushed himself to his feet, using the stake as a crutch. He could hear the wild calls of the tribe as they spilled from the burning jungle, racing down the beach after him. Many carried their own spears, raising them high above their heads as they formed a semi-circle around him, forcing his back to the dull, green sea. Above, daylight stars battled to and fro across the azure sky.
Stick sharpened at both ends.
You’ll make it back all right.
The Beast
Ralph could not tell one savage from the other as he peered through his own tangle of hair. They pushed in on him, painted faces full of excitement, thrilled to have finally cornered their prey. Ralph snarled at them, pulling his teeth back in a feral grin, baring his teeth to them all. They responded in kind, baying for his blood. A single savage advanced, and Ralph recoiled at what he saw in the brute’s hands.
A stick sharpened at both ends.
Roger came forward, gripping the instrument of death in both hands, his eyes filled with the hate of jealousy that had sprung from his loyalty to Jack. Either end of the stake he carried was cut to a point, smooth and detailed. Obviously, is had been carefully crafted for just this moment. Roger’s lips curled into a sneer. Ralph brought his own weapon to bear, and a chuckle spread through the tribe.
Spurred by the tribe, Roger jabbed forward, aiming to pierce Ralph in the chest. Ralph swerved aside and the stake sliced across his bicep. But, he lost his balance and crashed to the sand. He could feel Roger’s eyes on his back, knew it would only be seconds before the boy did him in. Ten seconds went by, and nothing happened. Another five and Ralph realized the tribe was silent. Slowly, Ralph opened his eyes and rolled over on the beach, looking at his attacker. Roger was standing still, the stake no longer in his hands. The rest of the tribe had fallen into a reverent hush. Jack had finally arrived.
“Step back.” The red-haired dictator said sharply to Roger. The knife, still stained with the kill of the last pig, hung in his right hand. The stake was now in his left. The black choir cap sat atop his head, an ironic mockery.
No words could describe the link both boys knew they shared. Jealousy, hate, anger, betrayal…all unsatisfactory and beyond their comprehension. The shutters in Ralph’s mind opened and closed as he sought for words. A plea for mercy, a call for reconciliation. None came.
“Spears down.” Jack said coolly, his gaze never leaving Ralph. The rest of the tribe obeyed their chief, resting the ends of their crude weapons in the sand.
“You know.” It was not a question, merely Jack cementing that the other knew what the stake was for.
“I do.” Ralph did not move, could not move. His legs burned from over use, numb for lack of rest.
You’ll make it back all right.
“You can’t play our game anymore, Ralph. We don’t want you to play.” A murmur of agreement ran round the semi-circle. Even the littluns were anticipating the end of the hunt, the offering to the Beast.
“Game?” asked Ralph, digging his hands into the sand in frustration. The shutters opened. “It’s not a game, Jack. You’re Jack Merridew, leader of the choir! Not…not…” His vocabulary failed him, for he knew no words to convey what he understood to be true. His mouth moved wordlessly.
“Shut up!” Jack cried, brandishing the stake.
“Savages! Don’t you see?” He plead to the tribe. “We killed…You killed Simon! And Piggy! They aren’t playing anymore either Jack! You’re game did them in!”
“Shut up!” the black cap fell from his head as a murderous light shone in his eyes. “Nobody listen to him! He can’t play!” the knife slipped from his hand, dropping into the sand as he bounded forward with the stake. Ralph roared in defiance, swinging his own stake to meet him and lunging at the same time. Their weapons met, but Ralph was too weary, to exhausted from the race across the burning island. Jack overpowered him, sending Ralph careening backwards down the beach. Ralph’s stake, the Lord of the Flies’ mantle, clattered across the sands.
Seeing the prey rolling towards the ocean, the tribe broke ranks. They spilled after him, Jack in the lead, taking up the call of the hunt once more. Ralph saw this as he pushed himself up. But it was not the only thing he saw. Something in the sands, half-buried. Something white as cream, which reflected the rays of the sun. A conch.
You’ll make it back all right.
Quickly he grabbed for it, cutting his hand on a sharp edge. Ralph pulled it from the sands of the tide and brought it to his lips. He knew not what else to do. So, he did as Piggy had taught him, and blew with all his might.
The sound exploded across the open beach, mingling with the roar of the fire, and reverberating back out into the ocean. At this mighty roar, many of the littluns stopped their apocalyptic charge, shocked back into the ways of old, if only for a moment. Ralph continued to blow, staring at Jack, who still led a handful of bigguns as they charged.
‘Roger has sharpened a stick at both ends…’
‘You’ll make it back it all right…’
The Beast.
Jack trotted to a stop a few feet in front of Ralph, and the other bigguns did as well. They stared at him, gazing…No, not at him, behind him. The blaring of the conch had died off, but the sound of a horn yet remained. Ralph turned to the sea, and saw a single water-craft skimming across the lagoon. Behind it, a larger war vessel sat anchored beyond the reef. Even from this distance, the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack was visible, wavering in the Pacific breeze.
The smaller craft slid up onto the beach, not ten feet from the boys. Figures, men, dressed in naval uniforms leaped from the boat and trotted over, guns at the ready.
“Hello.” One said warily, the insignia on his shoulder marking him as the ranking officer.
“Hello.” Ralph replied, looking and pulling the hair from his face. He met the officer’s eyes, and squirmed as he realized what he looked like, what all the boys looked like.
“Fun and games. Playing safari are we?” the officer asked, taking a knee so that he was eye-level with the boy.
“War.”
“Playing war? No casualties, I hope.” A hint of a smile spread over the sailor’s face.
“Two, but they are gone now.” The look in Ralph’s eyes was genuine, and the officer recognized this. Slowly, he stood up and looked at the flames consuming the island.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I am.” Ralph held the conch for him to see, and realized it meant nothing. Jack started forward, but stopped, turning to look at the flames as well.
“We’re looking for one of our men.” The officer explained. “He was a pilot, shot down in the airspace above this region. Our equipment picked up his locator, and we thought he might be on this island. Have you seen him?”
Ralph shook his head from side to side. He had seen no man.
“What is going on here? You’re just boys and British at that! I should think you’d put on a better show than...than...having a war!”
A stifled sob sounded from the littluns, who had crept down the beach at the urging of the other soldiers. Soon, the sob turned into weeping; weeping that spread through the toddlers like the fire that was consuming the paradise they stood on. Ralph wept as well, the tears making streaks through the dirt, grime and blood that covered his cheeks. He did not shed tears at the officer’s words, but at the irony he had finally understood. He wept for the end of innocence.
“Let’s get them out to the ship.” The officer said to one under his command, not looking at the group of boys before him. He turned to the sea and admired his battle cruiser while he waited for the boys to collect themselves. He had a war to return to, and had little time to comfort the collateral damage.
Ralph knew this, even through the shutters that still clogged his mind. He understood as well as Piggy or Simon might have. The Beast did not stalk this island. The Beast had rescued them, and now all of them were returning to a world that they knew to be false.
You’ll get back all right.
But Ralph wondered if he really would.
Sand worked its way into his wounds as Ralph pushed himself to his feet, using the stake as a crutch. He could hear the wild calls of the tribe as they spilled from the burning jungle, racing down the beach after him. Many carried their own spears, raising them high above their heads as they formed a semi-circle around him, forcing his back to the dull, green sea. Above, daylight stars battled to and fro across the azure sky.
Stick sharpened at both ends.
You’ll make it back all right.
The Beast
Ralph could not tell one savage from the other as he peered through his own tangle of hair. They pushed in on him, painted faces full of excitement, thrilled to have finally cornered their prey. Ralph snarled at them, pulling his teeth back in a feral grin, baring his teeth to them all. They responded in kind, baying for his blood. A single savage advanced, and Ralph recoiled at what he saw in the brute’s hands.
A stick sharpened at both ends.
Roger came forward, gripping the instrument of death in both hands, his eyes filled with the hate of jealousy that had sprung from his loyalty to Jack. Either end of the stake he carried was cut to a point, smooth and detailed. Obviously, is had been carefully crafted for just this moment. Roger’s lips curled into a sneer. Ralph brought his own weapon to bear, and a chuckle spread through the tribe.
Spurred by the tribe, Roger jabbed forward, aiming to pierce Ralph in the chest. Ralph swerved aside and the stake sliced across his bicep. But, he lost his balance and crashed to the sand. He could feel Roger’s eyes on his back, knew it would only be seconds before the boy did him in. Ten seconds went by, and nothing happened. Another five and Ralph realized the tribe was silent. Slowly, Ralph opened his eyes and rolled over on the beach, looking at his attacker. Roger was standing still, the stake no longer in his hands. The rest of the tribe had fallen into a reverent hush. Jack had finally arrived.
“Step back.” The red-haired dictator said sharply to Roger. The knife, still stained with the kill of the last pig, hung in his right hand. The stake was now in his left. The black choir cap sat atop his head, an ironic mockery.
No words could describe the link both boys knew they shared. Jealousy, hate, anger, betrayal…all unsatisfactory and beyond their comprehension. The shutters in Ralph’s mind opened and closed as he sought for words. A plea for mercy, a call for reconciliation. None came.
“Spears down.” Jack said coolly, his gaze never leaving Ralph. The rest of the tribe obeyed their chief, resting the ends of their crude weapons in the sand.
“You know.” It was not a question, merely Jack cementing that the other knew what the stake was for.
“I do.” Ralph did not move, could not move. His legs burned from over use, numb for lack of rest.
You’ll make it back all right.
“You can’t play our game anymore, Ralph. We don’t want you to play.” A murmur of agreement ran round the semi-circle. Even the littluns were anticipating the end of the hunt, the offering to the Beast.
“Game?” asked Ralph, digging his hands into the sand in frustration. The shutters opened. “It’s not a game, Jack. You’re Jack Merridew, leader of the choir! Not…not…” His vocabulary failed him, for he knew no words to convey what he understood to be true. His mouth moved wordlessly.
“Shut up!” Jack cried, brandishing the stake.
“Savages! Don’t you see?” He plead to the tribe. “We killed…You killed Simon! And Piggy! They aren’t playing anymore either Jack! You’re game did them in!”
“Shut up!” the black cap fell from his head as a murderous light shone in his eyes. “Nobody listen to him! He can’t play!” the knife slipped from his hand, dropping into the sand as he bounded forward with the stake. Ralph roared in defiance, swinging his own stake to meet him and lunging at the same time. Their weapons met, but Ralph was too weary, to exhausted from the race across the burning island. Jack overpowered him, sending Ralph careening backwards down the beach. Ralph’s stake, the Lord of the Flies’ mantle, clattered across the sands.
Seeing the prey rolling towards the ocean, the tribe broke ranks. They spilled after him, Jack in the lead, taking up the call of the hunt once more. Ralph saw this as he pushed himself up. But it was not the only thing he saw. Something in the sands, half-buried. Something white as cream, which reflected the rays of the sun. A conch.
You’ll make it back all right.
Quickly he grabbed for it, cutting his hand on a sharp edge. Ralph pulled it from the sands of the tide and brought it to his lips. He knew not what else to do. So, he did as Piggy had taught him, and blew with all his might.
The sound exploded across the open beach, mingling with the roar of the fire, and reverberating back out into the ocean. At this mighty roar, many of the littluns stopped their apocalyptic charge, shocked back into the ways of old, if only for a moment. Ralph continued to blow, staring at Jack, who still led a handful of bigguns as they charged.
‘Roger has sharpened a stick at both ends…’
‘You’ll make it back it all right…’
The Beast.
Jack trotted to a stop a few feet in front of Ralph, and the other bigguns did as well. They stared at him, gazing…No, not at him, behind him. The blaring of the conch had died off, but the sound of a horn yet remained. Ralph turned to the sea, and saw a single water-craft skimming across the lagoon. Behind it, a larger war vessel sat anchored beyond the reef. Even from this distance, the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack was visible, wavering in the Pacific breeze.
The smaller craft slid up onto the beach, not ten feet from the boys. Figures, men, dressed in naval uniforms leaped from the boat and trotted over, guns at the ready.
“Hello.” One said warily, the insignia on his shoulder marking him as the ranking officer.
“Hello.” Ralph replied, looking and pulling the hair from his face. He met the officer’s eyes, and squirmed as he realized what he looked like, what all the boys looked like.
“Fun and games. Playing safari are we?” the officer asked, taking a knee so that he was eye-level with the boy.
“War.”
“Playing war? No casualties, I hope.” A hint of a smile spread over the sailor’s face.
“Two, but they are gone now.” The look in Ralph’s eyes was genuine, and the officer recognized this. Slowly, he stood up and looked at the flames consuming the island.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I am.” Ralph held the conch for him to see, and realized it meant nothing. Jack started forward, but stopped, turning to look at the flames as well.
“We’re looking for one of our men.” The officer explained. “He was a pilot, shot down in the airspace above this region. Our equipment picked up his locator, and we thought he might be on this island. Have you seen him?”
Ralph shook his head from side to side. He had seen no man.
“What is going on here? You’re just boys and British at that! I should think you’d put on a better show than...than...having a war!”
A stifled sob sounded from the littluns, who had crept down the beach at the urging of the other soldiers. Soon, the sob turned into weeping; weeping that spread through the toddlers like the fire that was consuming the paradise they stood on. Ralph wept as well, the tears making streaks through the dirt, grime and blood that covered his cheeks. He did not shed tears at the officer’s words, but at the irony he had finally understood. He wept for the end of innocence.
“Let’s get them out to the ship.” The officer said to one under his command, not looking at the group of boys before him. He turned to the sea and admired his battle cruiser while he waited for the boys to collect themselves. He had a war to return to, and had little time to comfort the collateral damage.
Ralph knew this, even through the shutters that still clogged his mind. He understood as well as Piggy or Simon might have. The Beast did not stalk this island. The Beast had rescued them, and now all of them were returning to a world that they knew to be false.
You’ll get back all right.
But Ralph wondered if he really would.