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Lord of the Flies: The Sixth Commandment
So, I wrote this for a high-school English assignment, forever ago.
The Sixth Commandment
Lord of the Flies. Ralph. PG.
Rewriting the last chapter.
I should clean the wound, Ralph thought. The words repeated themselves, this time in his uncle’s voice. Should clean the wound. His uncle was a man who, despite looking as wide as he was tall, could move at great speed and with great agility. Ralph had gone hunting with him one time and tripped over a root. There was a nasty gash across his arm as a result and his uncle said We should clean that wound; it might get infected.
What?
He ran from the woods and emerged in a clearing. Ralph held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. His run crumbled to a walk as he realized that the wound was indeed stinging. Focus, he told himself. Focus, focus. Focusfocusfocus. You’re going to die.
Ralph looked behind him at the forest. He imagined Jack and the others bursting from the trees, screaming, wild, stripped of humanity. He imagined that the red on their faces was blood. Ralph looked down at his wound, the blood trickling down his side. He touched it. It only stung more. Should clean it, might get infected, said Uncle Richard. Ralph felt desperately homesick.
Noise. He looked up. Noise beyond the trees. Jack. Ralph turned around and continued running. Focus, he told himself. Focus. Focus. He ran and was engulfed by the forest once more.
Is this your first time hunting, boy?
The leaves and branches snapped against him, scratching his skin. The ground was sharp and cut his feet. Ralph tried to empty his mind. If his mind was empty then maybe he wouldn’t be so frightened. Maybe he wouldn’t be so tired and feel like the ground was giving way beneath his feet.
It’s about time you learned to hunt, Ralph, the voice continued. It was the gravelly voice of men attempting affection when they have forgotten what it was. Every boy has to learn to hunt. Hunting is a man’s sport.
Noise again. Faint shouts. Screams, tainted with anger and bloodlust. Ralph didn’t dare look back.
I’ll make a hunter out of you yet, boy.
Why can’t I run faster, he wondered in panic. His foot struck a rock and the breath caught in his throat. He fell forward and sprawled across the ground face-first.
I’ll make a hunter out of you.
His wound stung, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as hot tears spilled down his face. He held onto a tree for support as he pushed himself to his feet.
Ralph had to keep from crying out again when he saw what was before him. It was a skull set atop a stake, bleached white by the sun. Its empty sockets stared drolly back at him, inviting him to play, inviting him to scream. It’s a human skull, Ralph thought panicking. Jack cut off their heads and that’s a human skull. No. It wasn’t. It was a pig’s skull. Upon realizing this, Ralph let out a long shaky breath. He took a few steps forward. Don’t be stupid, Ralph scolded himself. It’s just a skull. It’s dead. It won’t hurt me. It can’t do anything to hurt me. Ralph glared at the skull defiantly. The skull stared back, inviting him to scream.
“It’s just a skull,” Ralph muttered to himself. And it couldn’t do anything to him. No, it was harmless. And just to prove it, he was going to take that skull in his hands and bash it against the ground. Yes, that was what he would do.
Ralph stretched a hand towards the skull, but stopped midway. It’s just a skull!, he thought furiously. He stepped forward and touched it with the tips of his fingers. It was warm and smooth.
There. Just a skull.
He removed it from the sharpened stick and raised it above his head, ready to throw it to the ground, and hesitated. Ralph brought it down before his face, looking into its sockets. Can’t do anything to me, he thought spitefully. He turned the skull over in his hands and pressed it against his face like some macabre mask.
Every boy’s got to learn to hunt. I’ll make a hunter out of you yet.
Ralph imagined his head on the stake. The skull seemed to laugh as if this was a fine joke.
Noise. Louder, and closer. Ralph gasped and removed the skull from his face. How long had he been standing there? How much time had he wasted?
An animalistic shriek cut through the air and was echoed by a dozen more throats. Close. How close? Ralph gripped the skull tighter in his hand. Too close. Run, he thought. Run. Run now.
He stood rooted to the spot, a million irrelevant thoughts whizzing through his head. It’s hot today. He looked up; the sun is bright. His leg’s itchy. Piggy’s dead. Piggy’s blood on the rocks. Rocks, great big rocks. Spears. The Beast is coming.
“He’s over there!”
Run, Ralph thought. He stared into the dense foliage, the source of the voices.
Simon’s dead, in the sea. Savages here. The fire’s dead. Run. Ralph stared through the trees. The cries grew louder and closer. Jack is coming. Run! They are coming. Jack is coming. It’s hot today. The sun is-
He ran.
The skull fell out of his hands and broke upon the ground as the savages burst through the trees in a blur of twigs and paint. They trampled over the broken skull, and when the dust cleared, there would be nothing there but fingernail-sized fragments of white.
“He’s getting away! He’s getting away!”
I won’t make a sound, Ralph whispered in his head. I won’t make a single sound at all. If they heard him, they would… No, they’re not that bad, said a thought that skittered unanchored in his mind. They’re not, they’re not…
Somewhere in the ocean right now, there were two bodies. Somewhere in the blue-green depths, there were streaks of red, streaks of broken innocence, sinking slowly to the bottom of the sea.
Nausea welled in his stomach. He tried to swallow. His throat was raw. Maybe… maybe if he ran stealthily, like an indian brave, then he’d lose them. Maybe. It was a useless, desperate thought. Maybe they’re not that bad. Behind him, Ralph could hear the shrill battle cry of the boys. They whooped and screamed and cheered and, whether they knew it or not in their disturbing frolic, their cheers were for blood, and for death. Ralph thrashed and crashed clumsily through the trees, swatting away the leaves and creepers in his way. The ground crackled and was slippery underfoot, and was sharp. Run quietly, Ralph commanded himself. Run quietly! But his breath heaved in and out in wheezing gasps, and every time he slipped he’d emit an animal cry. He stumbled blindly through the underbrush, leaving a trail of sound and broken branches behind him.
“I hear him!”
“This way!”
I can’t see, he thought. For a second Ralph wondered if the sun had disappeared, if the boys had killed it too like they were killing everything. Why was it so dark? But jungles are dark, no matter what you believe. Trees grow tall and close together, and their branches weave a strange labyrinth above you. In some jungles, it is always night. As Ralph ran, the trees grew thicker, wilder, and darker, but he did not notice this until he was deep inside the dark and the shadow and the night. The creepers had woven themselves into a tangled web above him and the sunlight was broken into a thousand little stars. It was like night. It was like drowning. In the darkness, he found that air was hard to breathe. Leaves and branches flew forward towards his face, blinding him, scratching him, forcing him to slow down. He sucked in each breath. His feet were bleeding and he wondered if the others could find him from the scent of his blood. Animals can do that; he read that in a book somewhere.
“I can’t see him! I can’t see him, where’s he gone?”
“We’ve lost him!”
“No we haven’t,” boomed Jack’s stentorian voice insistently. “We haven’t!”
The leaves threw themselves in Ralph’s face and this time he didn’t bother pushing them aside. Air was beginning to be a precious commodity. He couldn’t see further than his outstretched hand and he fell to the ground, exhausted. The blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy.
This is where a beast would be from, he thought. The thought appeared randomly, from a conglomeration of exhaustion and darkness. This was where the Beastie lived. Here, shadows were tangible, and much more than an absence of light. It crept underneath your fingernails, behind your eyes, inside your mouth, and that was what a Beastie does.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
And that’s what a Beastie would say, Ralph thought as he tried to move on all fours. Yes, it’s more than just the darkness. And almost as soon as the thought was completed, the jungle seemed to echo with the words.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
“No you won’t,” Ralph whispered hoarsely.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
“No.”
I become a part of you.
Ralph closed his eyes but it made no difference. The world was black both ways. The words burrowed themselves deeper into his mind.
“No… no, you’re not…” Ralph curled into a little ball, trying to shut his mind. He opened his mouth and screamed, and screamed in fear.
His scream pierced the jungle, sliced the dark in two. Ralph discovered that as long as he screamed the words stayed away. He could scream forever and it would stay away. Yes, that was exactly what he would do. He would scream forever.
He screamed.
… and he couldn’t. Ralph opened his eyes. It was still black. He couldn’t, not forever.
“There he is, there he is!” came a voice.
“Get him!”
“Kill the pig!”
“No!” Ralph choked out, but nobody heard him.
“He’s over there!”
Ralph half-crawled half-stumbled through the jungle. His vision began to blur and he realized he was crying. He was sobbing; great wracking sobs that shook his whole body. Ralph realized he was afraid of death.
“I hear him!”
He pushed himself to his legs and tried once more to run, but could only limp. His feet were a bloody mess and the tears in his eyes made it difficult to see. Every step stung but he forced himself to go on.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
Ralph glanced around him. Was it his imagination, or was the forest thinning out? No, it was true. The trees were spreading themselves out. He looked up and he could see patches of blue through the black. He limped on. Ralph looked back behind him, but could only see the darkness of the trees, but he knew the others weren’t far off. Their chant, their screams, their bloodlust resounded as if they were right next to him. And above the din of young boys’ voices, Ralph thought he heard another voice: I become a part of you.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
And suddenly the jungle opened to the sky. They were on top of the mountain. Ralph wondered how he ended up here, and vaguely concluded that he was headed for the mountaintop anyway. He took a few more steps forward and fell, emitting a hoarse scream. From the jungle, the voices grew louder and louder.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
“There he is!”
“I’ve got him!” Jack yelled, leading the pack of boys out of the dark. “He’s mine.”
He rushed towards Ralph, lips pulled back in a manic grin and spear raised above his head. Ralph dodged out of the way, but not quickly enough. The spear cut across his back and he fell forward, panting and blinking back tears.
The other boys crowded around them, and though they were ready with spears in their hands, they recognized this was a battle between only two. They formed a semi-circle around Jack and Ralph, yelling their chant in anticipation of a fight. The last to fall in line was Samneric, who quietly squeezed in at the last moment and watched the activity with wary eyes.
Jack poked Ralph’s feet with the spear and Ralph cried out in pain. He hastily pushed himself to his feet and made himself look Jack in the eye, and he involuntarily shuddered. “Kill the pig! Spill his blood! Bash him in!”
Confident, Jack threw his spear aside, looked at Ralph through the eyes of a predator, and launched himself at him.
The boys cheered. Samneric took a step back, startled by the sudden noise.
Jack and Ralph fell to the ground and began to struggle. Jack went for Ralph’s throat, but Ralph grabbed his hands and pushed him back.
“Kill the pig!” someone shrieked.
Ralph kneed Jack between the legs and managed to push him away, but before Ralph could straighten up, Jack grabbed his leg and yanked hard. Ralph fell to the ground. The other boys went wild.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!”
The twins watched with solemn eyes, quietly.
Jack sat on top of Ralph’s chest, punching his face mercilessly. If things kept going down this course, Ralph would lose, then he would die.
The twins understood this. They saw the spear Jack threw aside only a few feet away from them. They looked at Jack’s exposed back, then at the spear.
“Bash him in! Bash him in!”
Samneric stared at the spear, at Jack, at the spear again. There was the spear. There was Jack. Ralph would die if something didn’t happen soon.
“Spill his blood!” a boy screamed giddily, jumping in the air. In his excitement, he knocked the twins over. They helped each other up, then were quiet and still for the rest of the fight.
I’m going to die, thought Ralph as he tasted the blood in his mouth. I’m going to die. “Which is better – to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?”
Blood poured from Ralph’s nose and his eyes were swollen.
“Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?”
I am you.
He managed to get one arm unpinned from under Jack’s foot and began feebly punching him.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
The force of Jack’s punches lessened as he tried to deal with Ralph’s free arm. Ralph turned his head to the side and his blood dripped across his face onto the ground.
I am you.
No, Ralph thought.
He suddenly saw something at the corner of his eye. Ralph angled his head to get a better look. It was the spear.
The spear.
Ralph’s hand immediately shot out and grabbed for it. Jack was equally fast, and they grabbed it at the same time. Jack rolled off Ralph and they began to struggle with the weapon.
The crowd went ballistic with excitement. “Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!”
Sam and Eric clung to each other, eyes wide.
Jack growled. There was no trace in his eyes at all that he had once been human, a boy like Ralph. There was only instinct now, and savagery. Ralph twisted the spear sideways and out of Jack’s grip. Before he knew what he was doing, he stabbed Jack in the side. Jack howled and stumbled back, and Ralph lunged forward. He was upon Jack, screaming, crying, and stabbing him again and again. At the edges of his mind, Ralph was horrified. He was killing. He was killing, not a pig, but a person. Sunday school classes flashed through his mind. Thou shalt not kill, he remembered, or there’s hell to pay. Thou shalt not kill.
Jack screamed and cried and begged for mercy. His blood seeped into the ground and turned black with the soil. It’s like Simon’s death, Ralph thought. Like Simon’s.
Then he found it was easier not to think. It was easier to succumb to your actions, to listen to instinct. It was easier to blank out your mind, scream, and cry, and let your arms move as they will. This is why they do it. Because it’s easier not to think.
Jack screamed and his screams eventually became gurgles and gasps, until he was still, until everyone was quiet. Ralph noticed they weren’t chanting anymore. He stood back, catching his breath. The spear fell from his hands. He looked at Jack’s body before him, and promptly vomited.
Thou shalt not kill.
I don’t want to die, Ralph thought desperately. The fact that he was still alive didn’t seem to register. He stumbled back from Jack’s corpse, sobbing.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. “I don’t want to die.”
What now? He thought, I’ve killed someone. How could any of them stand to do this? Ralph looked around at the crowd of boys, who gazed back vacantly. Was this how it was going to end? He didn’t want to go to hell.
Roger came forward and picked the spear off the ground. With both hands, he offered it to Ralph. “You’re chief now,” he said.
Ralph paid him no attention, and held himself as he rocked back and forth, whimpering. Samneric had retreated into the trees and were now clinging tightly to each other, overwhelmed and confused. In the shadow, they looked like one creature, a strange mass of flesh, mitosis in reverse.
The sound of a foghorn from the distance made the boys look up. The foghorn sounded again, and they watched the ship until it was just a trail of smoke over the horizon.
The Sixth Commandment
Lord of the Flies. Ralph. PG.
Rewriting the last chapter.
I should clean the wound, Ralph thought. The words repeated themselves, this time in his uncle’s voice. Should clean the wound. His uncle was a man who, despite looking as wide as he was tall, could move at great speed and with great agility. Ralph had gone hunting with him one time and tripped over a root. There was a nasty gash across his arm as a result and his uncle said We should clean that wound; it might get infected.
What?
He ran from the woods and emerged in a clearing. Ralph held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. His run crumbled to a walk as he realized that the wound was indeed stinging. Focus, he told himself. Focus, focus. Focusfocusfocus. You’re going to die.
Ralph looked behind him at the forest. He imagined Jack and the others bursting from the trees, screaming, wild, stripped of humanity. He imagined that the red on their faces was blood. Ralph looked down at his wound, the blood trickling down his side. He touched it. It only stung more. Should clean it, might get infected, said Uncle Richard. Ralph felt desperately homesick.
Noise. He looked up. Noise beyond the trees. Jack. Ralph turned around and continued running. Focus, he told himself. Focus. Focus. He ran and was engulfed by the forest once more.
Is this your first time hunting, boy?
The leaves and branches snapped against him, scratching his skin. The ground was sharp and cut his feet. Ralph tried to empty his mind. If his mind was empty then maybe he wouldn’t be so frightened. Maybe he wouldn’t be so tired and feel like the ground was giving way beneath his feet.
It’s about time you learned to hunt, Ralph, the voice continued. It was the gravelly voice of men attempting affection when they have forgotten what it was. Every boy has to learn to hunt. Hunting is a man’s sport.
Noise again. Faint shouts. Screams, tainted with anger and bloodlust. Ralph didn’t dare look back.
I’ll make a hunter out of you yet, boy.
Why can’t I run faster, he wondered in panic. His foot struck a rock and the breath caught in his throat. He fell forward and sprawled across the ground face-first.
I’ll make a hunter out of you.
His wound stung, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as hot tears spilled down his face. He held onto a tree for support as he pushed himself to his feet.
Ralph had to keep from crying out again when he saw what was before him. It was a skull set atop a stake, bleached white by the sun. Its empty sockets stared drolly back at him, inviting him to play, inviting him to scream. It’s a human skull, Ralph thought panicking. Jack cut off their heads and that’s a human skull. No. It wasn’t. It was a pig’s skull. Upon realizing this, Ralph let out a long shaky breath. He took a few steps forward. Don’t be stupid, Ralph scolded himself. It’s just a skull. It’s dead. It won’t hurt me. It can’t do anything to hurt me. Ralph glared at the skull defiantly. The skull stared back, inviting him to scream.
“It’s just a skull,” Ralph muttered to himself. And it couldn’t do anything to him. No, it was harmless. And just to prove it, he was going to take that skull in his hands and bash it against the ground. Yes, that was what he would do.
Ralph stretched a hand towards the skull, but stopped midway. It’s just a skull!, he thought furiously. He stepped forward and touched it with the tips of his fingers. It was warm and smooth.
There. Just a skull.
He removed it from the sharpened stick and raised it above his head, ready to throw it to the ground, and hesitated. Ralph brought it down before his face, looking into its sockets. Can’t do anything to me, he thought spitefully. He turned the skull over in his hands and pressed it against his face like some macabre mask.
Every boy’s got to learn to hunt. I’ll make a hunter out of you yet.
Ralph imagined his head on the stake. The skull seemed to laugh as if this was a fine joke.
Noise. Louder, and closer. Ralph gasped and removed the skull from his face. How long had he been standing there? How much time had he wasted?
An animalistic shriek cut through the air and was echoed by a dozen more throats. Close. How close? Ralph gripped the skull tighter in his hand. Too close. Run, he thought. Run. Run now.
He stood rooted to the spot, a million irrelevant thoughts whizzing through his head. It’s hot today. He looked up; the sun is bright. His leg’s itchy. Piggy’s dead. Piggy’s blood on the rocks. Rocks, great big rocks. Spears. The Beast is coming.
“He’s over there!”
Run, Ralph thought. He stared into the dense foliage, the source of the voices.
Simon’s dead, in the sea. Savages here. The fire’s dead. Run. Ralph stared through the trees. The cries grew louder and closer. Jack is coming. Run! They are coming. Jack is coming. It’s hot today. The sun is-
He ran.
The skull fell out of his hands and broke upon the ground as the savages burst through the trees in a blur of twigs and paint. They trampled over the broken skull, and when the dust cleared, there would be nothing there but fingernail-sized fragments of white.
“He’s getting away! He’s getting away!”
I won’t make a sound, Ralph whispered in his head. I won’t make a single sound at all. If they heard him, they would… No, they’re not that bad, said a thought that skittered unanchored in his mind. They’re not, they’re not…
Somewhere in the ocean right now, there were two bodies. Somewhere in the blue-green depths, there were streaks of red, streaks of broken innocence, sinking slowly to the bottom of the sea.
Nausea welled in his stomach. He tried to swallow. His throat was raw. Maybe… maybe if he ran stealthily, like an indian brave, then he’d lose them. Maybe. It was a useless, desperate thought. Maybe they’re not that bad. Behind him, Ralph could hear the shrill battle cry of the boys. They whooped and screamed and cheered and, whether they knew it or not in their disturbing frolic, their cheers were for blood, and for death. Ralph thrashed and crashed clumsily through the trees, swatting away the leaves and creepers in his way. The ground crackled and was slippery underfoot, and was sharp. Run quietly, Ralph commanded himself. Run quietly! But his breath heaved in and out in wheezing gasps, and every time he slipped he’d emit an animal cry. He stumbled blindly through the underbrush, leaving a trail of sound and broken branches behind him.
“I hear him!”
“This way!”
I can’t see, he thought. For a second Ralph wondered if the sun had disappeared, if the boys had killed it too like they were killing everything. Why was it so dark? But jungles are dark, no matter what you believe. Trees grow tall and close together, and their branches weave a strange labyrinth above you. In some jungles, it is always night. As Ralph ran, the trees grew thicker, wilder, and darker, but he did not notice this until he was deep inside the dark and the shadow and the night. The creepers had woven themselves into a tangled web above him and the sunlight was broken into a thousand little stars. It was like night. It was like drowning. In the darkness, he found that air was hard to breathe. Leaves and branches flew forward towards his face, blinding him, scratching him, forcing him to slow down. He sucked in each breath. His feet were bleeding and he wondered if the others could find him from the scent of his blood. Animals can do that; he read that in a book somewhere.
“I can’t see him! I can’t see him, where’s he gone?”
“We’ve lost him!”
“No we haven’t,” boomed Jack’s stentorian voice insistently. “We haven’t!”
The leaves threw themselves in Ralph’s face and this time he didn’t bother pushing them aside. Air was beginning to be a precious commodity. He couldn’t see further than his outstretched hand and he fell to the ground, exhausted. The blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy.
This is where a beast would be from, he thought. The thought appeared randomly, from a conglomeration of exhaustion and darkness. This was where the Beastie lived. Here, shadows were tangible, and much more than an absence of light. It crept underneath your fingernails, behind your eyes, inside your mouth, and that was what a Beastie does.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
And that’s what a Beastie would say, Ralph thought as he tried to move on all fours. Yes, it’s more than just the darkness. And almost as soon as the thought was completed, the jungle seemed to echo with the words.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
“No you won’t,” Ralph whispered hoarsely.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
“No.”
I become a part of you.
Ralph closed his eyes but it made no difference. The world was black both ways. The words burrowed themselves deeper into his mind.
“No… no, you’re not…” Ralph curled into a little ball, trying to shut his mind. He opened his mouth and screamed, and screamed in fear.
His scream pierced the jungle, sliced the dark in two. Ralph discovered that as long as he screamed the words stayed away. He could scream forever and it would stay away. Yes, that was exactly what he would do. He would scream forever.
He screamed.
… and he couldn’t. Ralph opened his eyes. It was still black. He couldn’t, not forever.
“There he is, there he is!” came a voice.
“Get him!”
“Kill the pig!”
“No!” Ralph choked out, but nobody heard him.
“He’s over there!”
Ralph half-crawled half-stumbled through the jungle. His vision began to blur and he realized he was crying. He was sobbing; great wracking sobs that shook his whole body. Ralph realized he was afraid of death.
“I hear him!”
He pushed himself to his legs and tried once more to run, but could only limp. His feet were a bloody mess and the tears in his eyes made it difficult to see. Every step stung but he forced himself to go on.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
Ralph glanced around him. Was it his imagination, or was the forest thinning out? No, it was true. The trees were spreading themselves out. He looked up and he could see patches of blue through the black. He limped on. Ralph looked back behind him, but could only see the darkness of the trees, but he knew the others weren’t far off. Their chant, their screams, their bloodlust resounded as if they were right next to him. And above the din of young boys’ voices, Ralph thought he heard another voice: I become a part of you.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
And suddenly the jungle opened to the sky. They were on top of the mountain. Ralph wondered how he ended up here, and vaguely concluded that he was headed for the mountaintop anyway. He took a few more steps forward and fell, emitting a hoarse scream. From the jungle, the voices grew louder and louder.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Bash him in!”
“There he is!”
“I’ve got him!” Jack yelled, leading the pack of boys out of the dark. “He’s mine.”
He rushed towards Ralph, lips pulled back in a manic grin and spear raised above his head. Ralph dodged out of the way, but not quickly enough. The spear cut across his back and he fell forward, panting and blinking back tears.
The other boys crowded around them, and though they were ready with spears in their hands, they recognized this was a battle between only two. They formed a semi-circle around Jack and Ralph, yelling their chant in anticipation of a fight. The last to fall in line was Samneric, who quietly squeezed in at the last moment and watched the activity with wary eyes.
Jack poked Ralph’s feet with the spear and Ralph cried out in pain. He hastily pushed himself to his feet and made himself look Jack in the eye, and he involuntarily shuddered. “Kill the pig! Spill his blood! Bash him in!”
Confident, Jack threw his spear aside, looked at Ralph through the eyes of a predator, and launched himself at him.
The boys cheered. Samneric took a step back, startled by the sudden noise.
Jack and Ralph fell to the ground and began to struggle. Jack went for Ralph’s throat, but Ralph grabbed his hands and pushed him back.
“Kill the pig!” someone shrieked.
Ralph kneed Jack between the legs and managed to push him away, but before Ralph could straighten up, Jack grabbed his leg and yanked hard. Ralph fell to the ground. The other boys went wild.
“Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!”
The twins watched with solemn eyes, quietly.
Jack sat on top of Ralph’s chest, punching his face mercilessly. If things kept going down this course, Ralph would lose, then he would die.
The twins understood this. They saw the spear Jack threw aside only a few feet away from them. They looked at Jack’s exposed back, then at the spear.
“Bash him in! Bash him in!”
Samneric stared at the spear, at Jack, at the spear again. There was the spear. There was Jack. Ralph would die if something didn’t happen soon.
“Spill his blood!” a boy screamed giddily, jumping in the air. In his excitement, he knocked the twins over. They helped each other up, then were quiet and still for the rest of the fight.
I’m going to die, thought Ralph as he tasted the blood in his mouth. I’m going to die. “Which is better – to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?”
Blood poured from Ralph’s nose and his eyes were swollen.
“Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?”
I am you.
He managed to get one arm unpinned from under Jack’s foot and began feebly punching him.
It’s more than just the darkness. I become a part of you.
The force of Jack’s punches lessened as he tried to deal with Ralph’s free arm. Ralph turned his head to the side and his blood dripped across his face onto the ground.
I am you.
No, Ralph thought.
He suddenly saw something at the corner of his eye. Ralph angled his head to get a better look. It was the spear.
The spear.
Ralph’s hand immediately shot out and grabbed for it. Jack was equally fast, and they grabbed it at the same time. Jack rolled off Ralph and they began to struggle with the weapon.
The crowd went ballistic with excitement. “Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Kill the pig! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!”
Sam and Eric clung to each other, eyes wide.
Jack growled. There was no trace in his eyes at all that he had once been human, a boy like Ralph. There was only instinct now, and savagery. Ralph twisted the spear sideways and out of Jack’s grip. Before he knew what he was doing, he stabbed Jack in the side. Jack howled and stumbled back, and Ralph lunged forward. He was upon Jack, screaming, crying, and stabbing him again and again. At the edges of his mind, Ralph was horrified. He was killing. He was killing, not a pig, but a person. Sunday school classes flashed through his mind. Thou shalt not kill, he remembered, or there’s hell to pay. Thou shalt not kill.
Jack screamed and cried and begged for mercy. His blood seeped into the ground and turned black with the soil. It’s like Simon’s death, Ralph thought. Like Simon’s.
Then he found it was easier not to think. It was easier to succumb to your actions, to listen to instinct. It was easier to blank out your mind, scream, and cry, and let your arms move as they will. This is why they do it. Because it’s easier not to think.
Jack screamed and his screams eventually became gurgles and gasps, until he was still, until everyone was quiet. Ralph noticed they weren’t chanting anymore. He stood back, catching his breath. The spear fell from his hands. He looked at Jack’s body before him, and promptly vomited.
Thou shalt not kill.
I don’t want to die, Ralph thought desperately. The fact that he was still alive didn’t seem to register. He stumbled back from Jack’s corpse, sobbing.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. “I don’t want to die.”
What now? He thought, I’ve killed someone. How could any of them stand to do this? Ralph looked around at the crowd of boys, who gazed back vacantly. Was this how it was going to end? He didn’t want to go to hell.
Roger came forward and picked the spear off the ground. With both hands, he offered it to Ralph. “You’re chief now,” he said.
Ralph paid him no attention, and held himself as he rocked back and forth, whimpering. Samneric had retreated into the trees and were now clinging tightly to each other, overwhelmed and confused. In the shadow, they looked like one creature, a strange mass of flesh, mitosis in reverse.
The sound of a foghorn from the distance made the boys look up. The foghorn sounded again, and they watched the ship until it was just a trail of smoke over the horizon.