LORD OF THE FLIES

Chapter One, Part Two

Sunlight darted through the canopy, illuminating the ground below. Undergrowth covered most of the soil, and littered with fallen branches and tree trunks from the storm. Wind slowly rustled through the leaves, accompanied by bird calls and the patter of raindrops. The smell of salt and the crashing of the waves was faint, coming from the shore beyond the jungle.

Huddled against a fallen tree, with his face hidden in his arms and his body covered in sweat and dirt, was Johnny. Johnny was no more than 6 years, with a sturdy build and fair hair. Compared to most boys of his age, Johnny usually seemed to radiate strength and confidence. However, crouched and trembling in the middle of an unfamiliar jungle, he was drowning in fear.

Johnny lifted his head to look at the sunlight. Some of the twigs and leaves tangled in his messy nest of hair fell to the ground, and liquid on his face glistened, a mixture of sweat and tears. A small whimper escaped trembling lips as he closed his eyes and saw the events of that morning once again.

It started with a rumble. Johnny tightened his grip on his seat. Another rumble. Then, moments later, they were falling. Crash. Flames. Death.

Johnny gasped softly and opened his eyes as another tear escaped. Death. He was going to die, alone, in a jungle filled with birds that would peck at his corpse and vegetation that would grow and take his bones. Creepers that would wind in and out of his skull, like snakes sliding through tree branches.

Perhaps he wouldn't even be dead before nature took him. He could grow weak from starvation and have to sit, full of weakness and unable to move while birds pecked at his eyes. He'd heard stories-

Johnny whispered.

"No."

He wouldn't let that happen. He moved a trembling hand to touch the rough bark of the fallen trunk beside him, and pressed, slowly lifting himself up. He took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes and survey his surroundings. Behind him, he could just make out the scar through the trees. He could faintly hear waves crashing ahead of him.

He would head to the ocean. Once on the beach, he could find coconuts. He could build a hut. He could treat everything like a game, and pretend he was with friends, just messing about. Then a boat would come, and he would be rescued. Later on, he would think about his fun adventure in the jungle.

Pushing his fear to the back of his mind, he thought about rescue. He just needed to make it to the shore.

Still trembling slightly, Johnny began to walk towards the sound of the ocean. His steps were slow and careful as he tried to keep to the brightest parts of the jungle and avoid the creepers. His eyes were glued to the path ahead of him, while he blinked rapidly to clear his tears. Over the sounds of the birds, the ocean, air rushing in and out of his lungs and the sound of his feet crunching on the ground, he listened carefully for either other people or beasties.

He walked for what seemed like an hour until the sea sounded closer than ever, and sweaty and worn-out, he detected the scent of rotting fruit on the air. Moving forward slowly, scanning the ground, he found the source of the smell. Hidden in the undergrowth were several pieces of decaying fruit that had obviously fallen from the tree Johnny was now observing.

About 3 yards tall, the tree's thin trunk began to split into branches halfway up. Dark green leaves were scattered among the branches, still covered with droplets of water from the storm before. Sunlight was beaming down from a gap in the canopy above, and the light reflecting from the droplets make the tree seem like it was sparkling.

Though it wasn't the seemingly sparkling tree that made Johnny stop to observe this tree- it was the fruit hanging off the branches. About the size of an apple and almost perfectly spherical in shape, the fruit was yellow with colour, with hints of orange.

Johnny took a small step towards the tree, and then leapt on to the trunk, hugging it tightly while he made contact. The trunk wobbled dangerously and bent as his weight dragged it down at an angle, but only a little. Droplets of water fell from the leaves to burst on the ground. Looking above, he slowly slid his hands up the trunk, then inched his body up towards the fruit. The food. Survival.

When the fruit was just out of reach, the tree bent dangerously, and Johnny heard a faint crack. Another crack, but this time louder. He moved his eyes below him, where he could see roots slowly coming out of the ground, and small cracks appearing in the trunk. Panicked, he looked back towards the fruit. Reaching out, he could just brush his fingers against it.

Crack.

Johnny lunged, pushing himself away from the tree and towards the fruit. He grasped it tightly in his right hand, and then was falling. He crashed in to the undergrowth. The tree sprung back into place, though still at a slight angle, showering Johnny with raindrops.

Clutched tightly in his hand, was the piece of fruit. Brushing off the raindrops and wiping it on his trousers, he smiled with victory. Lifting it to his lips, he closed his eyes, and took a bite. Flavours overwhelmed him. The fruit felt like an apple, but tasted like a mix of orange and pink grapefruit. It was sweet, but not overly so. Sighing contentedly, Johnny took another bite.

After taking the final bite, he wiped his face, yawned, and took a moment to take in his surroundings. The trees were more spread out in this part of the jungle, and were mostly palm trees, with a few more fruit trees and bushes between. The ground was sandier than where he started, and littered with coconuts. Moving towards a cluster of bushes, Johnny began to unbutton his trousers.

Suddenly, the ambient sounds of birds and the ocean were interrupted by a deep, harsh note booming through the jungle, as flocks of birds rose from the trees with high pitched screeches, followed by silence. The sound stopped, and started again, this time louder and at a higher pitch. There was silence once more, and then the sound of the jungle returned- bird calls, the ocean.

Johnny was shocked. That sound wasn't made by nature- there was no animal, nothing, in the jungle capable of making a sound so loud, so penetrating. Humans made the sound, Johnny was sure of it. That meant he wasn't alone. It meant survival.

Overcome by curiosity and the thought of rescue, Johnny sprang away from his position, and with his trousers still lowered, he ran towards the ocean. He bounded onto the beach with sore feet from twigs on the ground and sweat running down his face, and about 100 yards along the beach were two boys.

Breathing a sigh of relief he began to move towards the boys. One continued to blow on a shell that seemed to be making the noise, while other boys began to appear from the palm trees along the beach. Smiling, he raised his head towards the sky and let the sunlight cover his face. He inhaled the scent of the ocean and let the sound of the waves crashing calm him.

There were other survivors. He wasn't alone.