A Simple Affliction

A/N: My first Lord of the Flies story. I'm not sure how to work very well, so the format might be dodgy or something…some helpful hints would be nice I'm a bit of a technophobe. Any strange spelling is probably due to my stubborn resolve to remain staunchly British… no offense meant.

Summary: What caused Jack Merridrew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Can be read as slash, but it isn't really…I think. What do you reckon? Slash or no?

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

The story is told from the points of view of many of the characters, so it may be a little confusing at times. Apologies!

Chapter 1

Jack plunged his sheath knife into the hard packed earth with a strangled yell of frustration. What were the wretched creatures, psychic? He knew for sure it could not be he who was the root of the problem. He was as silent as a cat, perhaps quieter. Besides, even if he had been heard, he was fast enough to catch any pig at a run. So why, then, had he not come across a single one of them? Bad luck, maybe. Simple bad luck.

He wrapped calloused, knuckle torn fingers around the hilt of the knife and wrenched it out of the ground, chest heaving with anger rather than overexertion. Bad luck. That must be it, yes, only luck would dare defy him like this, if such a thing existed. Yes. An anomaly, a slip up…nothing to do with him. He was sure that the weather at midday the previous day had been very similar to now, so it was not the climate. Jack sniffed the air experimentally. A salty breeze, aromatic plant life and the heat of the day. Nothing unusual.

He sat, crouched low on the ground, and listened intently, the sounds of the sea now mere background noise. Blocked out, he had grown so used to it. Far away he could hear a few littluns charging around the underbrush, ripping through the foliage, delighted cries seemingly sinister. Even further came a hint of crackling wood and the hoarse tones of smoke being blown out to sea by a stiff eastern breeze; the mountaintop. The lazy murmurings and scurrying footfalls of those taking a break by the bathing pool or lying on the platform beside it.

Jack's head snapped to the side at the sudden interruption of the unmoving stream of repeating noise by the distinct sound of something substantially heavy colliding with the sun beaten ground, then a loud exclamation, the scrambles and rustlings of moving bodies…then nothing. A slow, lazy smile curled the edges of his lips as he identified the source of the noise; a small indent of trees within the edges of the forest between the border between beach and foliage, in a sheltered cove on the side of the island which housed the platform and bathing pool.

He knew at once who it was, of course. He could now identify most voices from a considerable distance, and this was no arduous task. Voices, he had found, had particular lilts and accents which, if not studied, could not be differentiated between. He, however, had dedicated many hours of eavesdropping to perfecting this particular skill. The hushed, grating tones of Roger and the biguns, the high pitched, scurrying tumbles of the littluns. Piggy's rambling squeal, Simon's wispy mutterings, Ralph's scarce but nevertheless definable tones of reason.

The further away the harder it was, of course, that was simple logic. But this particular chorus was produced not so very far away, only a few leaps down a pig run and through the underbrush and he would reach the offenders. He already knew who they were, obviously, but what was the fun in letting bygones be bygones?

With two sharp cracks and the creaking of unsure adolescent bones suddenly grinding awkwardly into gear, Jack sprang up and raced with practiced ease through the underbrush, weaving through the thick, intoxicating tangle of life without sparing a thought. He wondered as a branch whipped through his overly long and tangled hair whether he would have to adjust his perspective soon; he had already grown considerably since their arrival on the island, and discovered to his horror that having excess flesh in the way of grasping branches was not the best way to adjust to change.

Breaking free of the smothering darkness and emerging into a large clearing beside the sandbank which marked the beginning of the shore, Jack came to a screeching halt to two sharp cries of surprise, and smirked; turned to greet his foreseen disturbers of the peace and straightened up, squinting at the bright sunlight seeping through the leaves.

"Sorry, ladies. Didn't mean to burst in on your little tea party here."

Ralph, recovering from the shock of the hunter's sudden appearance seemingly out of nowhere, flushed with indignant anger.

"You shut up, Merridew! You got no right, scaring us like that. Besides, Simon could have dropped the trunk again."

Ralph gestured to a sweaty and weak-kneed looking Simon, clutching feebly to the end of a jaggedly torn tree trunk. Ralph hastily reached for his own dropped end, cheeks still flushed slightly pink, and straightened up, wincing at the weight and the serrated bark digging into his fingers. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like you managed well enough without my help." He observed sarcastically, taking in the two boys tanned, sunburnt skin and the many scratches and gashes scattered all over every bit of exposed flesh. His eyes swept up to examine Simon's hair plastered to his forehead, and the bruised crescents below Ralph's eyes accented by flushed cheeks. Their eyes, however, were defiant and angry.

"We should try again, Ralph." Simon's hushed, slightly scratchy voice broke through the uncomfortable lull. "A little higher."

Jack watched with trepidation as they maneuvered the trunk down to rest in their arms above the elbows, then painstakingly pushed it upwards before letting it fall precariously against a nearby palm tree. He took in their shaking legs and the blood marring the stark cream of the exposed bark, and his eyes narrowed as they let it go and stood slumped against the trunk, panting and heaving. Simon bent on one knee and attempted to catch his breath.

"Need some help, ladies?"

Ralph raised his head from the bowed position it previously occupied, and glared at Jack with a bitter resentment, and Jack started at the sudden unveiled exhaustion which hid behind his gaze. Their supposed leader seemed so weak, beaten, more in spirit than body, although that was pretty beat anyway…and instead of sneering, Jack felt a sudden jolt in his stomach and a heavy weight press his chest, constricting his breathing. For some reason, he hated that look, in Ralph's eyes…that tiredness, world weary…and decided he would do all he could to keep from seeing it again. He feared for himself if he did.

"Not from you, Merridew."

Jack noted vaguely the use of second name, Ralph's way of voicing his displeasure subtly. Said boy turned to Simon and smiled tiredly.

"That's…good, Simon. First shelter standing, second half done…just a bit longer, now…"

He closed his eyes and reached up a clenched fist to rub at them irritably, in a surprisingly childish manner. It reminded Jack of a child who had stayed up far past his bed time, and snorted. Ralph was no child.

"Hey, maybe you two should take a break. The others-"

A sudden hysterical laugh broke Jack off, and his eyes widened as Ralph doubled over in seeming gleeful amusement. He frowned at such a reaction to what he saw as an attempt to keep the peace.

"The others! The…they…"

Ralph doubled over once again, a weak encore of giggles failing to escape, and Simon carefully ducked under the trunk to stand beside the chief, concerned.

"They don't give a damn…nothing…no fire, no rescue, and we'll never…I don't…"

Ralph trailed off, the smile slipping from his face to be replaced with a distinctly heartbroken look, staring through Jack in a very unnerving way. Simon tentatively put a hand on Ralph's shoulder, and he jumped, letting go of the trunk as he did so. Jack saw, as if in mocking slow motion as the trunk rocked, then teetered on the edge, then descended at gathering speed towards the two boys.

"Watch out-!"

The words burst from him as he dived at them, arms outstretched, and Simon let out a sharp gasp as he moved aside. Ralph, however, did nothing but sway a little as Simon's supporting hand was removed, still gazing at a point far away on the horizon. Jack grimaced and closed his eyes tightly as he made a mad grab for the immobile boy's waist and brought them both to a crashing halt on the ground, an echo of the trunk mimicking them painfully close.

There was a short silence, as Jack's ragged breathing slowly quieted and Simon's hurried footsteps sounded unevenly. Jack opened his eyes and sat up, eyes unfocused, before glaring down at the boy beside him.

"You idiot! Why the hell didn't you move?"

Ralph stared up at him now, not passed him, with a still strangely distant air to his eyes. He blinked and smiled slightly, and Jack started.

"Why…?"

Ralph gave a weak chuckle, chest heaving, before lapsing into a coughing fit. Jack whipped around and jerked his head, indicating Simon to join them. Simon scrambled over and sank to his knees, shaking slightly. He stared from Jack to Ralph, eyes wide but lids drooping slightly.

"How long have you two been doing this?"

Jack asked quietly, menacing, to Simon; Ralph was hardly in a state to be answering an interrogation. He had not moved from his crumpled position where he had landed, unmoving besides the slight rustle of his hair in the breeze. Simon raised a slightly confused gaze to Jack and frowned.

"Two…three days? The others were here, but…"

He trailed off, watching with apprehension as Jack drew his own conclusion and turned slowly to send a look of utter revulsion towards the distant sounds of the bathing pool. He turned back to take in Ralph blinking hazily up at he and Simon, a slight crease in his brow evidence he was still with them, but barely. His body went rigid as he tensed in rage, teeth clenched, and a hand immediately fell to his belt where his knife rested.

He stood slowly and turned towards the bathing pool, glancing back briefly to give a last parting order to Simon.

"Stay with him."

Before setting off at an unnaturally fast sprint through the trees, who seemed to sway apart in dismay. Simon closed his eyes wearily and sank to his knees once more, hands clenching and filling with warm, coarse sand.

There would be hell to pay, if Jack had his way.

A/N: So, should I continue? If so, next chapter will be in Roger's POV. Like? Hate? Review and let me know what you think!