Disclaimer: I do not own 'Lord of the Flies' or any of its characters or concepts.
Notes: We received an assignment in my English class, as we are currently reading Lord of the Flies (I'm on the last chapter), with a choice to either write about a nightmare we once had, or to make up one for Percival. I chose the latter.
Percival's Nightmare
The air was heavy and damp in the darkness that seemed all enveloping in the night of the island. The sand was like a massive, cold carpet that skirted the outside of the jungle's trees, which looked so tall and menacing during the night. A bird's call rang out through the air, splitting it in two, like how one of Jack's hunting knives would likely split the throat of the pig in two, spilling blood out. Instead of blood, though, fear dripped from the night, staining everything with a blackness that hadn't been there before.
A noise, from the water, and a head whipping that way, expecting to see something fierce rising out of the ocean, to creep up on the shelters that were filled to the brim with unsuspecting boys, ready to make the kill, creeping up on all fours like he had once seen Jack doing in the woods as he hunted the pig. Creeping along, silently, quickly, with a horrendous, painted face, distorted in the light, unrecognizable, especially to someone as young as Percival. The Beast would be like that, too, his mind told him – scary, unidentifiable – something he could never recognize, even if it looked anything like something that he had known back home.
The sound, this time, came from above, instead, and he cringed, crouching low to the ground, for a moment, before his eyes moved skyward, expecting something huge and fierce to drop down from the trees, or even from the sky itself, ready to hunt – to kill. But nothing came, and so Percival allowed himself to relax for a moment – before he saw movement in the trees, like he had that other night. That, though, was said to have just been Simon, right? Simon had been taken short.
"Simon?" he called, quietly, trying not too sound to scared, tempted to cry, but fighting not to. He crept slowly forward, towards the trees, the shelters suddenly feeling far away, "Simon, if that's you…I promise not to tell!" he whimpered slightly, wanting Simon to answer, "…Simon?"
Suddenly eyes were visible in the trees and brush, piercing as they bore into Percival, and he squirmed, feeling like crying, "S-Simon?" he asked again, and they eyes glinted, in recognition. They flashed with a fierceness that he recognized, too – the look he had seen, from afar, when Jack first donned the war paint, preparing himself for his first kill. He stepped back, the tears building at the corners of his eyes, "I promise not to tell…" the words came out more like a whimper, and he felt like the figure in the forest moved closer, with a low growl in it's voice, and suddenly he was petrified, the tears quickly beginning to flow with a loud sob – why didn't anyone come? Did they assume he was just having a nightmare? There was no way this wasn't real, he was sure…
The face around the eyes was stained red and white and brown, but he could not tell with what, only barely noticing the black marks that also stained the face. A glint of grey-ish silver, and then another snarl, before he could have sworn he heard one of the older boy's voices call out – and the thing in the trees ceased its snarling – and lunged.