DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Flies as it belongs to William Golding.

LMAOOOO ANOTHER MULTICHAPTER-TURNED-FICLETTT it's kinda sad how I never push through these amazing fanfic ideas I have but whateveeer

A polaroid photograph.

It held a snapshot of a memory when three closest friends were once happy and alive. One of the boys in the photo is me, but I don't care about that. What I care about is the other two in the photo with me. Beside me is a bespectacled boy who is looking up from a copy of Rites of Passage with a wide grin and a tan-skinned boy who is beaming while playing with a lizard. At the bottom, a caption written in beautiful and blue loopy letters says, You'll get back alright. I smile fondly when I reminiscent the moment the photo was taken, but a heavy cloak of depression suddenly envelopes me when I do.

"Ralph?"

I lift my gaze away from my lap, raising my head to look up at a young man awkwardly sitting behind a mahogany desk. His lips curl upwards and he digs his fingers in his messy blond locks. He breathes deeply, and asks, "Are you still with me?"

I took one last glance at the photo resting in my trembling hands before I forcibly smile at him. "Um, no, yeah. I'm still with you. Although I have to be honest, I spaced out for a minute there."

He nods at this and closes his notebook. "Okay, well, it's just your first day back so take it easy and don't force yourself to tolerate any situations you find unpleasant. Your teacher will help you the best that they can, but I need to warn you that your peers won't be as gentle as I prefer."

"I know," I briefly reply.

"Also, if your dorm mate starts exhibiting an unwelcoming behavior, let me know so I can ask for a reassignment of rooms and we can put you with someone much more suitable for you," He adds. I silently nod, thanking him while I shove the photo in the pocket of my blazer and grab the messenger bag that sits by my feet. "Well, that's it for today. You can go on along to your first class, I'm sure you remember your schedule?" He raises an eyebrow.

I tell him I do and I stand up to leave the stuffy room. "See you next time," I politely bid farewell before stepping out to the sophisticated halls and shutting the door behind me. The clicking of my dress shoes does nothing to hide my presence when I walk through the fancy hallway.

My head hangs low, growing platinum locks draping over my eyes, and that is probably the reason why I accidentally collide into someone. I mumble an apathetic, half-hearted, force-of-habit apology before stepping aside to continue walking.

At least until he harshly grab my wrist and pull me in front of him. I fearfully look up, and between the blond strands that block some of my view, an unreasonably tall redhead glowers over me. His ivory skin is littered with tiny brown freckles, and his features were notably sharp. He stands about an entire foot over me, at least I think he do. He narrows his eyes and furrows his eyebrows. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?!"

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. "I-I'm sorry," I stutter pathetically. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, I just– It's a habit– I'm sorry, it's just because I'm nervous and my– People don't like me and I don't like me– and I'm just sorry." I feel a blush of discomfort and embarrassment rise to my cheeks.

He remains silent, looking extremely annoyed. I sink deeper into my ditch of humiliation and backlash, waiting for the inevitable moment he stops withholding the urge he has to degrade me. Then, as I have been expecting, a hint of recognition flashes from his icy blue eyes and his face contorts to familiarity. I release a shaking breath and expect him to make some sort of shitty excuse to leave my company as quick as possible.

But instead, he smirks and that terrifies me.

He lets go of my wrist and moves on his way.

I become aware of my pounding heart and throbbing head. The noise that his shoes make slowly fades until I can't hear it anymore, and then I sigh heavily and went on my way. Despite that entire encounter proving me that I should stop, I still continue making me way to my destination observing the rather diffident movement of my feet as I make my way to my first class.