Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies does not belong to me. I could never write something as amazing as that book, trust me.
Thanks to Canadino for beta reading! THANK YOU!
If you were at that place, you would not have seen him dragging his feet through the sand, slowly, almost as if he could not lose contact with the land. If you were there, you would not have seen that the sand did not stick to his toes, and when the water came, it passed right through his ankles. If you were there, you would not have seen the sad black eyes looking beyond where the night sky met the ocean, and you wouldn't have heard him singing quietly to himself, his voice sounding like church bells, but also like flutes. It was something you could not explain. You had to hear it. But if you were at that place, you would not be able to.
But Jack Merridew wasn't there. He was in his room, curled up in his blankets, having a dream. He didn't know when he met Simon, over three years ago, that someday he would haunt his dreams. Yet here he was, again dreaming about the quiet boy, walking in that godforsaken island.
It had been two years since the rescue. If Simon had survived, Jack would have to keep an eye on him, to make sure the other boys were not bullying him. If he had survived, Jack would make sure the boy never left his side, accompanying him everywhere. He couldn't take the idea of losing Simon to another Ralph. No, Jack would keep an eye on Simon all the time and make sure he was protected. If only he had survived.
But he hadn't, and that was why now Jack's dreams were being haunted. He would dream about it every night. Everything; the dark sky, the scar, the pool and the jungle - all of it just like he remembered. Then he would start hearing Simon's voicecoming from the distance. He knew it was Simon, even before the boy was visible. His singing voice has a distinct sound. One Jack never heard thought possible before meeting the boy. You had to hear it be able to understand it.
Simon would come walking, his eyes focused on beyond the he would look at the top of the mountain, where the smoke would have been. His eyes would be sad, almost desperate. His song carried a note of desperation that made Jack's heart hurt. It was as if he was pleading for the fire to appear again, for the smoke to rise to the skies. But whet ever he wanted the fire to keep him from the dark or to give him some hope of rescue, Jack could not tell.
Sometimes Simon would continue walking until he reached Castle Rock. He would walk to the rocks, and stop where Piggy had died. Jack never figured out why Simon liked Piggy. He was annoying and did not treat the choir boy with the proper respect. Simon gave him meat and saved his glasses, yet how the boy repaid him? He called him batty. The word made Jack want to spit. Simon wasn't batty. He could see that now. The boy was not batty; in fact, he was the only one in that island who could not be called such a word. He was the only one who understood. As Jack remembered Simon's eyes, and as he saw his eyes again, he could see a wisdom and understanding that not even ministers had. It was something beyond normal human capabilities. He was not batty.
Simon would walk on the rocks, as if searching for something. He would continue going until he reached the fort, the place where Jack's word ruled. He would look around and see Piggy's old glasses, now full of dirt. He would try to grab it, only to have his fingers go through. And then he would sit there and cry. Jack was forced to hear the boy's sobs the entire night. If only Simon had survived, Jack would be able to put an arm around his shoulder and say it was all in the past, say he would make sure no one ever hurt him again. But Simon was dead, and as part of his punishment, Jack had to watch his friend suffer for an eternity, not able to help.
The huts were destroyed, and Simon had no home to return to. The place where they held the meetings was still there, but it didn't matter; Simon would just walk right pass it, only giving a small glance. There was no conch anymore. Order was gone, and the voices of those who tried to speak would be ignored. Only those who said the bloody chant would be heard. Simon never chanted, and Simon was never heard, even when he had the conch. Simon's voice was drowned away by the chant, and with it so was Simon's life and Jack's innocence. He tried to save them, but the chant was louder. The conch was gone, and now it didn't matter anymore.
Simon would then walk to the jungle and stop by a stick with some bones on top of it. That's what it looked like at first, but then you would see what Simon saw, and the bones would become a pig's head.
The pig's voice was harsh, and spoke things Jack could not understand. His words would sometimes haunt him during the day, as he tried to make sense of it all. But Simon knew. Simon always knew. As the pig spoke, Simon would look down in shameful understanding. He did not want it to be, yet he could not deny the truth. Those words caused Simon pain. His dark eyes would fill with tears, and those tears would run down his tan cheeks. He would put his hand to his heart, and silently sob with each word. It was like they were stabbing him again and again and again. Sometimes the pig would speak his name, and Simon would sob louder. He was in pain, much more pain than when he died. Jack wished he could punch the pig's head, make him shut up, and then comfort Simon, tell him to ignore whatever it said, it was pig's head on stick after all, that's all it was: a pig's head on a stick. He would save Simon from those horrible truths, and make him see that no matter what Simon knew, Jack would never let him suffer again. But he wasn't there, he could only watch, hear and feel.
And in the morning, Jack would wake up sweating as if he was back in the island. He would have tear stains on his cheeks, and his chest would hurt. Simon's voice would stay with him, and it would haunt him until his class started. Then, while in choir, he would faintly hear his giggle, and during some songs, he could hear Simon as if he was right there with them.
Jack did not want to go to sleep. He tried to keep himself awake, since he knew what waited for him. He didn't want to see Simon in pain. He hated to imagine that Simon's spirit was still stuck in that hell, still suffering. Simon's spirit endured the despair Jack had been freed from two years ago. And he hated it. He wanted to help, to do something to make it less painful for the former choir boy, with a voice of bells and flutes. But he couldn't.
That night, Simon headed towards the jungle. He walked, and Jack could already see the bones. He prepared himself for the hurtful words, for the uncontrollable sobs that tore his heart to pieces, but was surprised when Simon turned to another direction. In two years the spirit had only visited two places: the broken specs and the pig's head. But now he was going somewhere else, a place of the island that Jack did not know.
Simon continued to walk and stopped. He sat down and looked around, the points of his lips curled up slightly as he sang the last words of the song he was always singing. Jack looked around. He was not familiar with that place. The pigs never ran around there, so it never really mattered for him at the time. If he had not been so blood thirsty and power hungry he might have noticed this beautiful space. He would have stopped there and maybe appreciated the sound, the smell and feel of the grass beneath his feet. He would have stayed there with Simon, and the two would calmly look up at the leaves and the clouds and relax and ignore the questions of survival. And maybe he would have discovered a small part of the truth Simon understood so well.
The black haired boy then did another thing he had never done before. He looked up and straight at Jack. He smiled, still with some sadness, but also with some new happiness. He let out a sigh and smiled again.
"Jack…" he said, his voice just like he remembered."Thank you… I'm not alone anymore."
And that moment Jack fell to his knees and cried. He cried for the boy's kindness and forgiveness. He cried for the fact the boy was the one thanking him, instead of the other way around. He cried for the fact that he could only offer the boy some company right now. His spirit would stay on that island forever, alone, and Jack could only offer him some company at night, in his sleep. He cried for not being able to save the boy or his spirit from the cruelness of the world.
And he cried even more when he felt arms around him, comforting him. If he was at that island, he would not be able to see it, for the living cannot see the spirits that are left behind. But because Jack's heart was the one who was desperately searching for Simon, he could feel it.
I hope everyone liked it! Sorry if the characters were OOC, but this is my first Lord of the Flies fanfic… ^^" I'm obviously not used to the characters, but hope to get better soon! Though it is kind of weird that my first Lord of the Flies fanfic is a sort of a JackXSimon, when I like RalphXSimon a lot more. I'm sort of publishing this as a tryout, since I want to write a multi chapter fanfic for Lord of the Flies that is JackXSimonXRalph love triangle.
Review and tell me how to improve please!