Author's Notes: As many other people have been assigned, I was asked to write Chapter 13 of William Golding's Lord of the Flies, as creative writing in my coursework. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies at all, just the plot of this chapter.

Chapter 13

Salty Water and Angelic Flames

The boy with fair hair looked out at the dark moody sea, waves of murky blue and green crashed against the boat, pushing it to and fro like an angry child. White froth tried desperately to climb the ship, occasionally spraying the tips of his fingers, which he had gripped round the bars, with salted moisture. The waters here were different from the ones on the island, they weren't crystal clear tinted with peacock tones, or even black and bloodthirsty, they were normal. A sea that Ralph had grown up to know as the only kind. He now knew different, he knew the intense heat of the sun, creating wavy mirages in the distance and the destructiveness of the sea. The signs of morning were beginning to show but this did nothing to the cold air. Ralph felt nothing. Even when the hairs on his bare arm stood from the chill of the breeze and his hair was swept back, which was still too long but at least clean. One of the first things the naval officers had done when they were finally aboard the ship was scrub them down and give them a few shirts, too large for them, but coverage none-the-less. They had also treated their outstanding wounds. That had been weeks ago. He had no concept of where he was now or how long he'd been there, only aware of his own spiritless thoughts. Even though he wasn't receptive to his surroundings, his lips twitched and he breathed "piggy, piggy, piggy" over and over again. Steam from his hot breath sailed into the atmosphere without a care, passing the ships flag. The Union Jack, high on its pole, fluttered half heartedly beside him in response, the wet rope striking the metal quietly.

"Who's this piggy that you keep talking about, lad?"

A jolly looking lieutenant walked up to him, a pipe in one hand. The tobacco covered flames inside the circular opening illuminated his face menacingly as he put it to his lips.

"He was my friend," muttered Ralph, blinking several times but not turning to look at the man. He refused to give way to the bubbling tears within his soul.

"A pig as a friend? Did you grow up in the country?"

"No, he was a boy."

"Whoever heard of a boy called Piggy, eh?" The lieutenant snorted a laugh quickly replaced with a rapid succession of coughs and smoke. Ralph felt his fists clench, his overgrown nails biting into the soft skin of his palm and his teeth grinding together with barely contained rage. "Anyway," he managed to splutter, "not long until we get to England, just an hour or two. You better be ready."

Oblivious to the boy's anger, the naval officer thumped Ralph on the back with a smile and offered a jovial farewell. Frozen momentarily, Ralph let out a large sigh, trying in vain to control his emotions. He swirled heavily on the spot and started to walk towards the stern of the boat. As he passed, he couldn't resist glancing at the large quad gun that had been behind him and he shivered at the thought of it pointing at his back while he had been gazing into the ocean, lost in thought. The tip of France was just visible to him in the mist, the coastline of Brittany hazy in the distance. As he passed a group of officers, just having woken up and coming out of the crews berthing, he slipped in silently. Inside were a few men; idly stretching or changing. One of the older men whom was still in the process of dressing approached him as Ralph sat down on his make-shift bed.

"Gotta go to the scullery, boy. Them pals of yours are there already."

Ralph nodded numbly in reply and got up once again, only to go out the door on the opposite side of the room. The Captain had said it was best that they were all kept busy while they were staying on the ship and assigned them jobs such as cleaning dirty tableware, linen and even the deck of the ship on occasions. The littluns were often the ones to dry the cutlery and other utensils.

Jack, on the other hand, had smoothly suggested something different. Rats, he wanted to hunt and kill the rats on board. The crew, who had grown weary of the scuttling and scraping of tiny claws in the dead of night enthusiastically agreed. So, Roger and himself, armed with a pocket knife each that the Captain had allowed them, set off stalking the darkest parts of the ship. Ralph had known it wasn't a good idea from the start and avoided them as much as possible, staying out of the shadows, just so neither Jack nor Roger had any excuse to harm him. They already taunted him in his dreams, turning them into swirling abysses of hell, he didn't need their little game to be repeated from the island.

Pushing the door of the scullery open he was greeted by a busy scene which he had become accustomed to. Boys with their hands in dirty water, meek rags wrapped around the hands of littluns awaiting wet forks and knives, the cook's assistant haphazardly scolding someone for one thing or another and most importantly, the feeling of orderly fun. Recognising the twins, Ralph ambled over to them to say hello. The name of Samneric hadn't changed since being off the island, in fact this was because they were closer than ever, scared of losing one another. Which was only to be expected from all the occurrences that they had all been through.

"Looking forward to going home?"

"Yes," Ralph replied quietly, still wondering why he felt a pang of despair when he thought of home and a normal routine, "how about you two?" The boys nodded simultaneously.

"It'll be nice to get some sweets."

Ralph grinned. Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a terrified shriek from one of the younger boys. This was followed by the doors slamming open as Jack and Roger burst into the room, a feral glint in each of their eyes.

"Which way did it go?" Jack barked to no one in particular as he roamed the floor with his eyes. The child who had screamed was soon being interrogated by Roger. Crying, the small boy pointed directly at Ralph, causing the two older boys to advance upon him. The three boys had conveniently been placed in separate cabins for sleeping and also had no chores together. So they didn't have to interact with each other except for meal times, when the most they said was "could you pass the salt?", the tension that had been building up was now turning to electricity in the air. Creeping towards Ralph with a painful slowness, they'd been waiting for this and were going to enjoy watching him squirm. He was trapped, sunk into a corner where there was no escape and they'd be going in for the kill. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't intimidated, he tried to see anything but Roger sending that rock hurtling down to the ground and-

Ralph ran. He didn't see where he was going, he didn't hear anything but the echo of ululations and his heart beating. He was back on the island, smoke everywhere clouding his view and smothering him until he could hardly breathe. The tendrils and vines grabbed hold of him, trying to keep him captive, betraying Ralph to the devil himself. The sand beneath him clutched to his naked feet and burned his toes without any mercy. Ralph was so tired, so utterly exhausted of running away, he began to wonder if it would be such a bad thing to just give up. But there were the murders, the images of both Simon and Piggy's pale dead bodies, streaked with scarlet blood.

What if he was next?

The world shook beneath his feet, sending him head-first into the wall of the corridor he had been frantically sprinting down. Ralph felt the darkness pierce his eyes and the sound of panicked screams illuminated the bitter cold air. Then the vibrations of several machine guns, directly above him, consumed his ears causing Ralph to duck instinctively. He remained crouching there for a minute, wondering what to do. The ship was obviously in the midst of an attack and going to the surface would not only put himself in danger but he could get in the way of the men who were fighting. Stooping in a corridor parallel to the conflict, might also be quite life-threatening, especially if there happened to be an aerial bomb attack. They couldn't be too far from the shore now, if the group of boys and him were to escape, they could get to land unscathed. Ralph, making his decision, began to feel his way down the corridor and back to the scullery.

He inched up the stairs slowly, his mouth agape. In awe of the planes overheard bursting into flames, like white angels wrapped in destructive distillation. Blinded suddenly by an explosion on deck, Ralph held onto the railing of the stairs until his knuckles turned white and carried on his way to where the other boys were. He picked up the pace as he rounded the corner to the scullery, hoping that the other boys would listen to his plan and then-

It was gone.

They had gone. The whole cabin which had enclosed the pantry and scullery were blown apart. The remains of a bomb shell, lay innocently at the entry of the inferno. Ralph's blood ran cold and his throat involuntarily closed up until he couldn't breathe. Tears singed his skin and he vaguely felt something pass over his lips, realising dumbly that it was a mixture of smoke and air. Collapsing to his knees in front of the destruction he shook his head, at first, it was gently but it soon turned into be a violent movement.

"Why?"

He screamed at the scene before him. Unable to comprehend that his few friends, the boys that he had been through hell and back with, were gone. Yet, he saw blurred forms in the heart of the fire and vomited, the charred bodies crumbling into ash.

He was all alone. He was no longer just a boy either. He knew that he couldn't depend on anyone but himself. So, waking from his unstable state of mind, he wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve and ran to the small lifeboat that was attached to the radio room. It was the same boat that had rescued them from the island. He pulled on it viciously, eventually managing to force it free, though in the process cutting a deep groove into the inside of his left arm. He watched the blood flow freely for a minute, giving time to relish the fact that he was alive and could still bleed, a luxury he may not have for very long.

He held onto the tip of the rigid boat, pulling it to an opening of the bars that encased the edge of the ship. His fingers were slipping on the blood that was running down his arm but he held on, gritting his teeth with determination. The shouting of the men around him and the explosions that seemed to be in every direction had caused him to become temporarily deaf. Every noise was muffled making it sound like the fight was miles away. How he wished that was true, that none of this had ever happened.

Ralph's feet stumbled on something behind him, realising too late that it was a dead fighter. Death was everywhere. The carcasses of the naval officers lay unmoving. He avoided contact with their clouded and unseeing eyes. As he maneuvered the boat to his ultimate destination he couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it. Yet, it had to be worth it, this was his life. Ralph pushed the boat over the edge of the ship, watching as it crashed and splintered at the contact with the water.

It was all over, the boat was broken and he could do nothing. He stood there looking down at the remains, floating away and then turned his head to see troops running towards where he was. One of them passed him with such vigor that he was knocked off balance and fell. It seemed like an eternity before he felt the sea consume him. His lungs were swiftly filling with salt water and his eyes automatically squeezed shut. In those moments before his untimely death, he visioned Simon sitting above him on that rock, telling him he was sure that he would get home. Ralph kicked with all his remaining strength until he felt the top of his head emerge from the water. He gulped in air while choking on the fluid that still riddled his insides. As he quickly assessed his surroundings, he twisted in the water and swam towards the shore that was from his estimation, 20 yards away.

Ralph was a strong swimmer, he'd had lessons 2 years ago and enjoyed splashing in the lake, in the summer, near his home with his friends. But Ralph was soon finding his resolve wearing thin his breathing becoming laboured and the coldness of the water pinching his skin with every movement. He was almost there. If he held on for just a few more minu-

When Ralph came to, he was barely aware of the warm blanket around his body and the moist flannel that traced his forehead. He could only see the solitary person that was with him in the room. His back was to him but with his muscular shoulders and hair that matched Ralph's to perfection, it could only be one person.

"Dad?" Ralph whispered, his head spinning as he tried to sit up. His father who had been searching into the fire; then started at the sound of his son's voice.

"So, you're finally awake are you?" He replied warmly.

"Wher- What?"

"My naval crew, we were about to launch the battle cruiser to join the fight, help the other cruiser, they found you floating in the water and went into save you. After they realised you were my son they came to me immediately and I stayed here."

"Oh," was all Ralph managed to murmur. He wasn't sure if to feel happy that his father had stayed with him or guilty that he had not been able to go and help the ship; which was desperately in need of any aid. He decided eventually, he was more pleased with his dad's presence. They both fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"I have heard that your sister has been missing her dear older brother."

"I've missed Mary too," Ralph whispered quietly.

"I'm sure you'll see her soon. Don't worry, every thing's going to be just fine." At his father's consoling words, he couldn't help but have the tiniest amount of hope and also the largest amount of anguish. Nothing would ever be 'fine' but maybe he could pretend. Maybe he could ignore the grief that lay at the back of his mind every second of every day. The nightmares might turn less twisted and dark as he grew but the reality would always be there, worse than any bad dream.

He gave a shaky sigh as his father eased a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It would never matter how many people tried to reassure and heal him, he would forever be broken.

A/N: Thank you for reading my little fic. I really enjoyed writing it. Any tips or criticism will be happily accepted so, please review.