Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Honestly! Just read it!
Outside, the shattered remains of what once was a glorious city haunted Jack Merridew with a distant, yet horrific reality. His red hair was shorter that it had been, and his pale, freckled face with out the stains of his past. Of course, he had grown in the ten years that had separated his grim adolescence. He walked quickly up the ruined steps to the green door that would bring solitude, and a sense of peace.
The door creaked a little, but that was to be expected. After the war, nothing had been properly replaced and everything had a tinge of black shadow around it. Walking inside, he found the office door already open. 'So I've been expected," he wondered silently. A gruff voice came from the inside of the office. "Come in."
Cautiously peering inside, Jack took a few steps in and stopped. It looked the same as he thought it would. Dark, quiet, and isolated. A low green couch next to a desk beckoned him. Suddenly he stumbled, as darkness pasted over his mind.
'You're a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief!'
Startled, Jack's eyes widened and he barely made it to the couch before falling over. These things didn't happen to Jack Merridew.
The dark figure behind the desk didn't seem fazed by the incident. "You're late."
Jack looked up, and smiled weakly. "Don't know my way around this place."
Silence. "Very well."
The figure stood up and walked over to the corner of his desk. "You may lie down, .Mr. Merridew, is it?"
Jack nodded. He let his feet dangle slightly off the edge and waited.
The figure's eyes glinted with malevolence. "So, Jack, is it then?"
"Yeah."
"Why are you here?" the figure spat out.
Jack shrugged, and then paused. "I've..I've been remembering things. Things I don't want to remember."
"About what? You can tell me," the figure said with a wicked smile.
Jack gulped. "About ten years ago, I was on an airplane with some other school children.
Military weapons shot it down, probably. We crashed on this little tropical island, and were stranded there," he said quietly.
'See? See? That's what you'll get! I meant that!'
Jack gasped, and brought his hand to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, and he started breathing heavy.
"Go on," the figure urged.
"There was a group of us boys, I don't remember how many. We had to survive without adults, you see. None of us knew anything!" Jack screamed. He collected himself.
"I don't remember all of their names, except four. Roger, Ralph, Simon..and Piggy."
The figures face was stricken with grief, but he spoke again. "Why do you remember those names?"
"I don't- I don't know. You see, when the choir-that was my school friends. I was the leader," Jack said with a sense of pride. "We heard a loud blowing sound on the beach. It was this boy, Ralph, he was blowing a conch."
'Why do you hate me?'
Another sharp breath. Jack's voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. "The boys elected Ralph chief. He had the conch, I suppose. But I wanted to be chief. So he made me a hunter. Hunting," Jack said slowly.
'Kill the beast. Cut his throat. Spill his blood.'
Trembling he continued. "My hunters and I killed the pigs, we got meat for everybody. But that wasn't good enough for Ralph. All he talked about was the fire, smoke and the conch. How could I understand?"
The man at the desk inched foreword slightly, stifling a sob.
"I did bad things. I can't remember them all, but I hurt the young boys-the littluns. We separated from the tribe, and formed our own. We stole their fire-"
"Is that all you did?" The man behind Jack voiced menacingly.
"Err-no. I stole Piggy's glasses, and broke them. And-"
The figure crept closer. "And what about Simon?"
"Tha-That was an accident! He got in the way of our dance, we thought it was the beast-"
"That was murder." "NO! It was an accident!"
"And what about Piggy?"
'The conch is gone!'
Jack took short breaths, and found he didn't have any words to say. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he hid his face in his hands.
The man choked on a sob, and let his hand reach into his pocket. With a gleam of metal, he brought something out, and grasped it.
Finally stepping out of the shadows, his face revealed short, fair hair.
"Did you think you could get away from it, Jack?"
Jack froze.
"Did you think I wouldn't remember? Hiding in the jungle, a savage, just like you?"
Turning his head, Jack's pale face met the blade of a knife. With an intake of breath, Jack let his eyes wander to the man staring at him with hatred. "Ralph!"
Ralph smiled. "You remember me."
'The thing is-fear can't hurt you any more than a dream.'
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! It was the island, you know that!"
The knife inched forward. "No, Jack, it was us."
'I'm the chief!'
"I wasn't the chief.."
'Jack started up, then changed his mind and sat down again.'
"I-I didn't want to kill Simon..or Piggy. Did I, Ralph?"
Taken aback, the chief withdrew the knife slowly, tears dropping from his eyes.
"No, Jack..you didn't.."
'A little boy who wore the remains of an extraordinary black cap on his red hair and who carried the remains of a pair of spectacles at his waist, started foreword, then changed his mind and stood still.' "I didn't hate you, chief, I didn't hate you.."
The knife dropped to the floor. An awkward silence followed, as memories of a haunted past slowly faded from the two boys.
Outside, the shattered remains of what once was a glorious city haunted Jack Merridew with a distant, yet horrific reality. His red hair was shorter that it had been, and his pale, freckled face with out the stains of his past. Of course, he had grown in the ten years that had separated his grim adolescence. He walked quickly up the ruined steps to the green door that would bring solitude, and a sense of peace.
The door creaked a little, but that was to be expected. After the war, nothing had been properly replaced and everything had a tinge of black shadow around it. Walking inside, he found the office door already open. 'So I've been expected," he wondered silently. A gruff voice came from the inside of the office. "Come in."
Cautiously peering inside, Jack took a few steps in and stopped. It looked the same as he thought it would. Dark, quiet, and isolated. A low green couch next to a desk beckoned him. Suddenly he stumbled, as darkness pasted over his mind.
'You're a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief!'
Startled, Jack's eyes widened and he barely made it to the couch before falling over. These things didn't happen to Jack Merridew.
The dark figure behind the desk didn't seem fazed by the incident. "You're late."
Jack looked up, and smiled weakly. "Don't know my way around this place."
Silence. "Very well."
The figure stood up and walked over to the corner of his desk. "You may lie down, .Mr. Merridew, is it?"
Jack nodded. He let his feet dangle slightly off the edge and waited.
The figure's eyes glinted with malevolence. "So, Jack, is it then?"
"Yeah."
"Why are you here?" the figure spat out.
Jack shrugged, and then paused. "I've..I've been remembering things. Things I don't want to remember."
"About what? You can tell me," the figure said with a wicked smile.
Jack gulped. "About ten years ago, I was on an airplane with some other school children.
Military weapons shot it down, probably. We crashed on this little tropical island, and were stranded there," he said quietly.
'See? See? That's what you'll get! I meant that!'
Jack gasped, and brought his hand to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, and he started breathing heavy.
"Go on," the figure urged.
"There was a group of us boys, I don't remember how many. We had to survive without adults, you see. None of us knew anything!" Jack screamed. He collected himself.
"I don't remember all of their names, except four. Roger, Ralph, Simon..and Piggy."
The figures face was stricken with grief, but he spoke again. "Why do you remember those names?"
"I don't- I don't know. You see, when the choir-that was my school friends. I was the leader," Jack said with a sense of pride. "We heard a loud blowing sound on the beach. It was this boy, Ralph, he was blowing a conch."
'Why do you hate me?'
Another sharp breath. Jack's voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. "The boys elected Ralph chief. He had the conch, I suppose. But I wanted to be chief. So he made me a hunter. Hunting," Jack said slowly.
'Kill the beast. Cut his throat. Spill his blood.'
Trembling he continued. "My hunters and I killed the pigs, we got meat for everybody. But that wasn't good enough for Ralph. All he talked about was the fire, smoke and the conch. How could I understand?"
The man at the desk inched foreword slightly, stifling a sob.
"I did bad things. I can't remember them all, but I hurt the young boys-the littluns. We separated from the tribe, and formed our own. We stole their fire-"
"Is that all you did?" The man behind Jack voiced menacingly.
"Err-no. I stole Piggy's glasses, and broke them. And-"
The figure crept closer. "And what about Simon?"
"Tha-That was an accident! He got in the way of our dance, we thought it was the beast-"
"That was murder." "NO! It was an accident!"
"And what about Piggy?"
'The conch is gone!'
Jack took short breaths, and found he didn't have any words to say. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he hid his face in his hands.
The man choked on a sob, and let his hand reach into his pocket. With a gleam of metal, he brought something out, and grasped it.
Finally stepping out of the shadows, his face revealed short, fair hair.
"Did you think you could get away from it, Jack?"
Jack froze.
"Did you think I wouldn't remember? Hiding in the jungle, a savage, just like you?"
Turning his head, Jack's pale face met the blade of a knife. With an intake of breath, Jack let his eyes wander to the man staring at him with hatred. "Ralph!"
Ralph smiled. "You remember me."
'The thing is-fear can't hurt you any more than a dream.'
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! It was the island, you know that!"
The knife inched forward. "No, Jack, it was us."
'I'm the chief!'
"I wasn't the chief.."
'Jack started up, then changed his mind and sat down again.'
"I-I didn't want to kill Simon..or Piggy. Did I, Ralph?"
Taken aback, the chief withdrew the knife slowly, tears dropping from his eyes.
"No, Jack..you didn't.."
'A little boy who wore the remains of an extraordinary black cap on his red hair and who carried the remains of a pair of spectacles at his waist, started foreword, then changed his mind and stood still.' "I didn't hate you, chief, I didn't hate you.."
The knife dropped to the floor. An awkward silence followed, as memories of a haunted past slowly faded from the two boys.