Innocence Is Bliss: an Alternative Ending to 'Lord of the Flies'
Ralph listened intently to the rapidly falling rain as he ran swiftly through the tall trees. Its heaviness caused him grow to tense. He slowed down for a moment and came to a steady halt. Gasping uncontrollably, he leaned against a nearby tree until he caught his breath and tried to go over the situation in his mind; they didn't know where he was. He was safe, for the time being anyway. He spotted a large thicket and, deciding this would be a secure hiding place, carefully burrowed himself into it.
The foliage sheltered him well and also acted as a good protection from the outside world. The voices he could hear were distant, but fear, as well as the cold rain, chilled him to his bones. Never one to disguise reality, he admitted to himself that death was close and he could not go on hiding from Jack and the hunters for ever. Even if the twins were not actively against him, it would be too dangerous for them to try and help him. He was one man against the forces of evil, like Churchill against the Nazis.
The sudden ability to understand his own fight in the context of civilization, standing out against evil, gave him a moment's comfort, before he returned to thinking about his own bleak situation, but at least he knew that if he died now he'd die as a righteous human being. He was prepared to fight, even if it was to the death. He clung on to his only weapon, as if for dear life. Stained with the blood of the pig, the stick was now a symbol of resistance, rather than oppression.
Audaciously, Ralph poked his head out of the undergrowth to try to get some perspective on whereabouts he was hiding. He peered uneasily in front of him, straining his eyes into the distance. A huge, familiar looking willow tree stood out before him. He clearly remembered that there was a small, secluded and hidden clearing behind it which only he knew about. It would be the ideal refuge in which to lie low and lick his wounds. Nevertheless, as he appraised the area more meticulously, he saw that he would have to negotiate a stark clearing before he could reach the thicket. If one of the hunters spied him as he ran, his death would be unavoidable. Ralph was frustrated , but he realised that if anyone did try to crawl into his thicket, he could simply stab them with his stick. But then, if they were stabbed they would probably run away and tell the others. He could handle one of them, but he knew there was no way he could escape if he was surrounded by the whole tribe. Did that mean he would have to kill anyone who entered the thicket? That thought echoed in his mind; could he really become a murderer? Even if it was to save his own life? No. Then he would be one of them. After Ralph had spent some time seriously reflecting on his own ethics, he decided he would rather die than become one of them, because to surrender his beliefs would be to deny who he was, which was to truly die.
Ralph's heartbeat slowed and became steady. He could no longer hear the whooping cries of the hunters, just an occasional muffled voice. He noticed that the rainfall had also become much softer, and he only just noticed the steady pattering, which seemed to comfort him slightly. The thick blanket of clouds above was not beginning to fade, but it felt more like a protection than an ominous sign. The foliage sheltered him from most of the downpour, giving him security. Ralph burrowed more deeply into the dense vegetation and felt as if he were in his own sanctuary.
As Ralph crouched motionless among the bushes, he became aware of a tickling sensation on his left arm. He quickly turned his head to see a tiny rodent crawling up it. He shrugged it off and when he peered at it closely he saw it was just a mouse. It seemed fairly tame, and happy enough not to run away. Satisfied by its harmlessness, he let it crawl on to his hand. Its tiny nose seemed to be trying to nestle into his palm with small snuffling twitches. Ralph stroked it tenderly with a single finger. With each touch, it gave a small squeak, which Ralph took to be a sign of content, but after a minute, he realised it was making these noises out of distress, not happiness. He looked at it more closely, and noticed that it had quite a large gash on the top of its head.
Ralph knew what it was like to be victimised. He picked up a leaf and dabbed the tiny drop of blood which had leaked out of the lesion, carefully nursing its wound. He tore off part of the leaf and used it as a sort of dressing. The mouse's injury reminded him of a similar cut he had received when he was much younger, tripping and scraping his knee on a toy he had left on the floor. He had burst into great sobs until his mother came to comfort him, he thought wistfully. He also remembered how she had nursed him in a similar way, soothing him and patching up his cut with a plaster. He thought about when she held him tight and the smell of her sweet perfume came clearly into his mind. Yet when he tried to picture her face it was just an unfocused blur, as if that was all she was; nothing more than a memory. He thought back nostalgically to a time where his life the one of a normal boy, he had gone to school, played sports at the weekend and laughed with his friends. Ralph couldn't remember the last time he laughed. His parents had loved him dearly. It was like recalling a strange dream. He had become so accustomed to being in this nightmarish wilderness that his ordinary past was no longer a part of him.
The remote sounds suddenly became louder and more hostile. Ralph's heart skipped a beat, but then began to quicken, thudding deafeningly in his ears. In a quick decision he carefully put the mouse on a soft bed of grass. He tried to listen to what the voices were saying, but the sound was muffled against the rain and the sound of his own heartbeat. He started to breathe heavily, gasping for air. He felt as though he was going to hyperventilate. Ralph lay on the ground, curled up in a ball trying to steady
his breath. After all he had been through he could not let the sound of it give him away now. He sat up and realised he was dripping in sweat in spite of the chill in the air. The sound of a slow, steady drumbeat filled the air, which was loud enough to drown out much of the voices in the background. The beat got louder, and Ralph gasped as he realised it was getting closer. As it did, the voices became clearer, piercing his ears with their intensity. He could now understand they were all speaking together in a sort of chant. The drum started to beat at a faster pace, as if mimicking the growing excitement of the hunters.
Then suddenly, their words became clear: "Kill the boy! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!"
The words sent a chill down Ralph's spine. He cautiously poked his head through the branches and saw that the boys were beating down the foliage with big sticks. He could see the flames on a torch someone was carrying. The fire lit up Ralph's panic- stricken eyes, the colours dancing on his scarred body.
"Find him now! Find him now!" He heard a dark voice intoning behind him. Ralph clutched his stick tightly as if holding on for dear life. It would only be a short time before he was found. All his efforts went to stop himself crying out for help. He knew now he was not a hero, just a young boy in terrible danger, crying silently for his mother.
His pursuers were spreading out searching for him. In horror, Ralph saw one head push through the undergrowth, catch a glimpse of him and hastily move the other way. At least there was one who didn't want to be part of his murder even if he couldn't stop the others. Finally Ralph sensed that the crowd were giving up the search and moving away. He breathed a small sigh of relief.
"We should head back now. If he was around we would have found him by now" one of them said breathlessly.
"I'm staying behind. I'm sure I heard something here".
Ralph gasped. He certainly recognised that voice. It was not as piercing as the others, but he found it much more threatening. It was arrogant, and rang with authority.
"Jack," he whispered out loud.
"What's that? I think I heard something" said Jack loudly.
There was no reply and Ralph guessed that the others had wandered out of earshot. He hoped Jack would walk off too and strained his ears. He convinced himself that he could hear Jack's retreating steps. His heart thudded in his ears and he felt sure it would give him away. What should he do next? They were bound to come back and search again. It would be better if he could cross to the better cover of the copse opposite. He listened again for sounds - nothing. He knew what he had to do. He clutched his stick tightly with a huge wave of determination and darted out from his hiding place.
"AHHHHH!" with a crush of pain Jack was on him. He had been waiting silently, still as a cat stalking a bird.
Ralph struggled free, hauling himself to his feet. He grabbed his stick as he moved but noticed that Jack also held a sharpened stick. Ralph's stick was solid and heavy but Jack's had been sharpened to a lethal point. Already it had pierced Ralph's skin and he felt the sickening wet flow of his blood. The pain was astonishing, but it was nothing in comparison to the fear he felt so deeply. Jack was staring into his eyes, grinning madly. Ralph furiously gazed back at the all too familiar blazing blue eyes, which were burning feverishly.
Feeling the adrenalin pumping through his veins and the heated rage building up inside him, Ralph was able to work up the strength to strike back, leaving an enormous gash down the side of Jack's face. Jack howled in pain, clutching the side of his face and collapsing to the ground in agony. Ralph took advantage of this by trying to strike another blow, but in spite of his injury, Jack was able to block him. He stood up ready to continue the fight. Realising that he was no match for Jack's superior fighting skills, Ralph took off into the wilderness. Not quite sure where he was heading, he sprinted as quickly as he could through the leaves and branches. In a rush of panic he heard footsteps close behind him, but Ralph could go like a rocket when he wanted to, and now he was going faster than he'd ever run in his life.
The pair tore through the jungle . The rain, now coming down in buckets, clouded Ralph's vision. He continued through his nightmarish journey looking only straight ahead, never turning. Swerving to miss an obstructing branch, Ralph tripped on a fallen tree, hurtling to the ground. Jack was quick to take advantage of Ralph's slip and stood in front of him, holding his spear threateningly above Ralph's heart. "Have you had enough yet pig?" Jack asked him, his painted face contorting manically. "Well, have you?" he cried with more aggression, kicking sand into Ralph's face. All Ralph could do was nod, not letting the tears fall that were welling deep inside him. Panting rapidly, he tried shutting his eyes. Shutting himself off from Jack's torment.
He tried remembering the first time he and Jack had explored the island. He remembered Simon's thoughtfulness and attention to detail as they came across a stunning, but completely untouched area. They had found a sanctuary, and each of them had shared in its beauty. There were some twining elderly trees that had a feeling of permanence and settled life and flowers with untamed beauty and colour. He couldn't believe how innocent they had been. In just over a year they had changed so much. He looked into Jack's eyes; he also seemed in deep thought, as if an inner conflict was raging inside him. Ralph almost began to hope, but suddenly he caught sight of the anger in Jack's face. Ralph held his stick tightly, but then quickly dropped it; there was no point now. Even if he lived, what did he have left? The boys were all against him now. How could they not see their malevolence? They had betrayed their true leader. There was no sanity left anymore. Piggy was dead. Simon had been brutally murdered in an idiotic attack. No one would remember his kindness, his decency… or anything about him at all. Just that he was someone who got in the way.
"Well?" Ralph finally shouted, making Jack jump "What are you waiting for? You might as well kill me; I'm no use to you now. You must be happy. The last person who defied you and now he's right in your clutches, completely defenceless. I'm the enemy now, the 'beastie'. I suppose you'll be a hero, carrying me back on your shoulders, the others besieged with admiration. Or pretending to be anyway. They'd never dare challenge you. You're just a dictator, that's all. They're only loyal because they fear you. They hate you really, and the few people who stand up to you are simply pushed aside," Ralph jeered; he had nothing left to lose now.
Jack's face twisted with fury, his eyes full of fire and wrists clenching in fierce, overwhelming rage. "You know nothing about me," he spat back. "You should be begging me for mercy; you have no respect, even in death." Jack let out a low hiss, as if this was the last word, the conclusion of Ralph's fading humanity.
He finally realized the truth. The truth that Piggy and Simon and so many others around the world suffered and died for. A single tear escaped his eye, a tear for all the evil and darkness in the world and all the innocence that had been taken away.
Tensing, as Jack held up his spear, the broken boy readied himself for what was to come. His final breath. Ralph closed his eyes and opened them again to see a spear being wrenched from his chest, witnessing it all in slow motion. Before he shut his eyes again, he heard words coming from others. Their meaning was incomprehensible to him in his barely conscious state. They were nothing more than muddled noises in his head.
"He's really gone," one of them gasped in a broken voice. High pitched sounds of grief came from the boy. "He had no right to die. He was a good person. He was innocent." Ralph left this world of evil, grieving the loss of his friends, grieving the horrid fate of mankind. As he lay dying he thought, Innocence truly is bliss.