Shades of pink, exploding to yellow, fading to white.
And Ralph held the conch in his hands, tracing his fingers over the swirls of color, as he spoke in assembly, all the boys' eyes trained on him. Because the conch was power, and Ralph had the conch.
And he couldn't forget the power he felt when he called the boys together and tucked the shell under his arm.
The way the boys looked at him and the conch admiringly and he felt like a prince.
And then he had to pass the conch around and all he wanted was that power back in his arms. But that was greedy, though for some reason Ralph didn't care.
Soon the conch had faded to a sickly yellow and people called out, and Ralph had to shout to quiet them.
Jack split up the tribes and Ralph found himself nearly alone. He and Piggy sat on the hot sand with the conch between them.
When Jack called them to his feast, they went and became murderers. Ralph couldn't help but think it wouldn't have happened if he had brought the conch. The conch kept him grounded. If he had the conch, maybe Simon would be okay.
More and more left to join Jack's tribe and the others stole Piggy's specs and wrecked their shelters.
They went to Castle Rock and Piggy cradled the frail, blanched shell in his arms even though Ralph would have felt better if it was with him. And maybe he was right in that thought. Because Piggy was knocked off the cliff and his brains leaked out and the conch shattered. Ralph fled from Castle Rock with one thought on his mind.
"It's all over."