Disclamer: the LORD OF THE FLIES, Jack, Ralph, Simon and the tropical
setting are from the writeings of wiliam golding. Everything else on the
otherhand is of my twisted brain.
Alex smashed through the jungle, his vision marred by the tangled foliage. As he clambered up through the jungle, he heard the hunters cry out. His mind slowly drifted back to the day when he sat by the broken trunk of a palm tree and laughed delightedly at the shimmering water before him. But when he got older, this truth was shattered, this dream was dead. Now there were only two things to be in the jungle:
Hunter or dinner.
As he ran, he came across a small lagoon. It was not large but it was not a puddle. Its serene quality seemed to calm him down somewhat while he looked into its shimmering waters. As he looked, Alex saw a vast monstrous shape reflected in the water. He looked up to see Ben, another of the boys.
"You hide, hunter?" Asked Ben
Alex nodded " Lost now." Alex replied.
"Why us?" asked Ben
"You ask many questions."
"Why us?" asked Ben again with a bit of annoyance. "Piggy say that we safe!"
"Piggy dead, Piggy first meal of hunters."
"Oh, he dead?"
Alex just nodded.
"Where Simon?
"Simon nuts, He dead.
"Where…" asked Ben trying to search for the word. "…Where Jack"
" Jack king now, Jack got pretty shell, Jack hunter, Jack nuts"
Suddenly a bright green bird flitted out of the underbrush as if disturbed by something. It let out a long squawk as the light flitted off of its green feathers. Alex let out a gasp.
" Hunters coming…. Run…."
And with that the two friends ran away, there minds griped in the madness of terror that had afflicted them all devouring all that was left of their humanity. Flying from sanity and reason. Running for their lives
A while after the kids had ran off, a chant could be heard from the deep forest. It rose slowly, like a early morning sleeper, every second moving faster and deeper. Much like a ritual.
"Kill the beast, cut its throat, spill its blood."
At its highest point, the chant stopped. And then a scream penetrated the quiet like a knife. Then all was quiet.
In the darkness of the Palm Tree were the bird made its flight, a figure moved. The flies buzzed around its form like a fog clinging to its many open wounds. The figures seemed not to mind the flies. Its gnarled hands shook with the chuckle coming from its bruised and bleeding lips. Strangely mute, it picked up its staff and promptly vanished to watch the newest sacrifice to him
Alex smashed through the jungle, his vision marred by the tangled foliage. As he clambered up through the jungle, he heard the hunters cry out. His mind slowly drifted back to the day when he sat by the broken trunk of a palm tree and laughed delightedly at the shimmering water before him. But when he got older, this truth was shattered, this dream was dead. Now there were only two things to be in the jungle:
Hunter or dinner.
As he ran, he came across a small lagoon. It was not large but it was not a puddle. Its serene quality seemed to calm him down somewhat while he looked into its shimmering waters. As he looked, Alex saw a vast monstrous shape reflected in the water. He looked up to see Ben, another of the boys.
"You hide, hunter?" Asked Ben
Alex nodded " Lost now." Alex replied.
"Why us?" asked Ben
"You ask many questions."
"Why us?" asked Ben again with a bit of annoyance. "Piggy say that we safe!"
"Piggy dead, Piggy first meal of hunters."
"Oh, he dead?"
Alex just nodded.
"Where Simon?
"Simon nuts, He dead.
"Where…" asked Ben trying to search for the word. "…Where Jack"
" Jack king now, Jack got pretty shell, Jack hunter, Jack nuts"
Suddenly a bright green bird flitted out of the underbrush as if disturbed by something. It let out a long squawk as the light flitted off of its green feathers. Alex let out a gasp.
" Hunters coming…. Run…."
And with that the two friends ran away, there minds griped in the madness of terror that had afflicted them all devouring all that was left of their humanity. Flying from sanity and reason. Running for their lives
A while after the kids had ran off, a chant could be heard from the deep forest. It rose slowly, like a early morning sleeper, every second moving faster and deeper. Much like a ritual.
"Kill the beast, cut its throat, spill its blood."
At its highest point, the chant stopped. And then a scream penetrated the quiet like a knife. Then all was quiet.
In the darkness of the Palm Tree were the bird made its flight, a figure moved. The flies buzzed around its form like a fog clinging to its many open wounds. The figures seemed not to mind the flies. Its gnarled hands shook with the chuckle coming from its bruised and bleeding lips. Strangely mute, it picked up its staff and promptly vanished to watch the newest sacrifice to him