Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies or any characters associated with it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

On The Ship

Ralph stood on the ship, wrapped in a blanket, staring out into the sea. After several hours waiting for the men of the navy to recover as many of the boys as possible, they had finally set sail once again for civilization.

The search for boys had brought up both the living and the dead. The officer had instructed the sailors to place the dead bodies somewhere far from the living boys. In total, it seemed as if about 25 boys were on the island, almost half of them dead by the end, and most of the dead were younger children. Ralph had not been away of the large number of smaller children on the island. They really had had no chance of survival. Then, after they had completed the search, the sailors assisted the boys in getting cleaned up and dressed, as the vast majority of boys were naked, as well as treating any wounds they might have. The clothes hung off the boys, who all looked as if they had lost a significant amount of weight.

Ralph looked up as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The officer that had confronted them on the island knelt down next to him.

"How are you feeling, Ralph?" the officer asked.

"Better," Ralph responded, smiling weakly.

"That's good. We're going to be taking you boys back to England. You'll all be reunited with your parents."

"That's great," Ralph said, trying to sound excited. In reality, though, he was not. He was lost in thoughts of the island. Images of Simon and Piggy continually flashed through his mind. They didn't have to die. It was because of the stupid rivalry, the stupid conch, the stupid plane. He felt warm tears welling in his eyes and wiped them away quickly before the officer saw them. "How long will it take before we get there?"

"It'll be a while, you were stranded quite far away," the officer replied, "Why don't you come down with the rest of the boys. They're all eating. You must be hungry." Ralph nodded, brushing his long, and now clean, hair out of his face. The officer lead Ralph down to where the rest of the boys sat, eating as if they hadn't in months. The officer smiled and left the room, leaving the boys with another officer who watched them with an amused expression.

The smell of the food made Ralph almost nauseous with hunger, and sat down in an empty seat quickly, pulling a large plate of chicken towards him and shoving a piece in his mouth savagely. After a few bites, he calmed down a bit, and looked around the room. He could barely recognize the rest of the boys now that they had been bathed and clothed. The room was occupied by several large round tables, each with room for about six people. As there were only about fifteen boys left, very few tables were filled to capacity. For the most part, boys sat in pairs, not talking to one another, choosing instead to fill themselves with food as if they may never eat again.

In the far corner of the room, a figure he recognized as Jack sat at a table with Roger, eating slowly and looking at the wall, as if in deep thought. In front of him sat the shattered remains of Piggy's glasses. He didn't look nearly as intimidating without the paint covering his face and his hunters gathered behind him like an army.

Jack was lost in thought as well. He didn't know whether being rescued was a good thing or a bad thing. On the island, he was important. People looked up to him. Now that they had left, he was just another boy. He would have to go back to the life he knew before, where he was made fun of on a daily basis. Thinking of the island was painful. He realized now that things had certainly gotten out of hand. People were killed, and for what?

He looked down at the glasses that sat before him. Picking them up, he took a moment to study them. First the lenses. They were cracked, and could obviously not be used. Not that it mattered anymore. He turned them and stared at the frame. They were scratched and dirty. As he stared, he noticed something. Looking closer, he realized that something was engraved in the frame, a name. He squinted. Through the layers of dirt and scratches, he could barely make out the name. 'Harry Brooks'.

So the boy had a name. A name, meaning he had a mother and father, meaning that there was someone that would be distraught when they found out he was dead. He placed the glasses down sadly and looked up at the rest of the room.

Most of the few older boys that were left sat deep in thought, while the younger boys chatted excitedly. Ralph tried to think back and remember what the boys looked like when they first met. Not as dark, surely, and much shorter hair, though the latter would change soon. The officers informed that they would all be receiving their much needed haircuts after they finished their meal.

Jack noticed, in the far corner of the room near the door, that Ralph sat at a table by himself.

The officer walked back up onto the deck and to the bow of the ship. He placed his hand on the rail and looked out at the ocean. He couldn't comprehend how so many children so young survived for so long on an island. He had seen a lot in his days in the navy, but nothing this remarkable. These children had to get their own food and water, as well as make their own shelter. There were grown men who couldn't do what these boys had done.

No one could say exactly how long they had been on that island. The officers had tried to come up with a good guess, but failed. When they had discovered the wreckage from the crash, no documentation could be found to confirm any specific date. Clearly, it had been several months. No one worried too much, as they would surely find out when they got to England.

An hour later, Ralph's hair had been neatly cut and he was, once again, staring out at the sea. He found this very comforting. This time he was thinking about his family, especially his mother. How would she respond to seeing him? How would he respond to seeing her? He hoped he wouldn't cry. Not again.

Once again, it was the sound of footsteps that took Ralph's attention away from his own thoughts. He turned slightly to see Jack walking towards him, looking uncomfortable. Ralph turned to face Jack totally. "Jack," he said before the other boy could open his mouth, "I don't want any trouble. We're off the island. It's over."

"No…" Jack said, putting his hands in the pockets of the pants he had been given early that day, "I…I just wanted-"

"Just wanted to what?" Ralph demanded. Months of dealing with Jack had forced him to become defensive whenever the two met.

"I wanted to say…I'm sorry." Ralph couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're sorry? Sorry for what? For being so mean or for getting my two friends killed?" Jack looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

"For everything," Jack said, so quietly that Ralph almost had to lean in to hear him, "Things got out of hand. I never meant for that to happen. It's just…"

"Just what?" Jack stepped forward so that was right next to Ralph, looking out at the ocean in front of them.

"It's just that, back home…no one listened to me. They listened here. They did what I said. They didn't make fun of me. You...you don't know what it's like to have people make fun of you all the time. You don't know. I just wanted people to listen to me."

Ralph was taken aback by this confession. He turned so that he too was staring out at the ocean.

"I know it won't bring back Simon or Piggy. I'm sorry. I'm just…I'm sorry" Jack said. For a moment he just stared out at the sea. Then, without notice, he burst into tears. Ralph, still unsure of what to do with himself, tentatively put a hand on Jack's shoulder, an attempt to be comforting. It seemed as if several minutes had gone by before the sobs slowed and his breathing returned to normal. Jack wiped his eyes.

"I'm sorry…" Jack whispered again. Ralph put a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

"I know."

"You're never going to forgive me, are you?" Jack asked, looking at Ralph desperately. Ralph said nothing for a moment.

"No. I'm sorry. I can't."

Jack nodded and turned to leave, the stopped. He turned back to look at Ralph, a few stray tears still streaming down his face. "Oh…" he said, putting his hand in his pocket, "I almost forgot..." He pulled out the shattered remains of Piggy's glasses. "He'd want you to have these." Jack said, handing them to Ralph, who took them hesitantly. The glasses. He wasn't sure what to do with them.

"Thank you…" Ralph said, looking up at Jack, who smiled weakly.

"Good-bye, Ralph," Jack said. Then he turned and walked away without another word.

"Good-bye, Jack," Ralph whispered.

Ralph stared at the glasses, at a loss for words. The glasses that had meant so much only days before now meant nothing. Tears ran down his face as he studied the glasses. He held the frames up to his face and stared, at a distance, through the shattered lenses. As he did so, he noticed tiny writing on the frames. Bringing the glasses closer and squinting hard, he could barely make out the name 'Harry Brooks'.

Somehow, knowing that is now deceased friend had a real name made everything worse. He cried harder than he ever had before. None of this had been Piggy's fault. If anyone had deserved to die, it wasn't Piggy. Ralph gripped the glasses tightly through his tears. He looked out towards the sea, tears blurring his vision, then back at the glasses in his hand. Making up his mind, he took the glasses and threw them off the boat, watching as they tumbled through the air and finally came to rest on the water, where they were quickly taken under by the waves.

Ralph wiped the tears from his eyes roughly. He looked out at the ocean again, clutching the rail tightly, biting his lip in an attempt to keep himself from crying anymore. It was over. The island, the fighting, everything was over. Still, as the boat raced forward towards his home, towards the thing he had wanted so badly for months, he thought back to the island. He had tried to keep himself from thinking about it, but he couldn't help it. He realized, sadly, that the island would be a part of him forever. The lessons he learned there would stay with him, and he knew they would plague him for the rest of his life.