Ralph's Thoughts on Returning Home
The waves splash gently on the sides of the great ship; I watch the island that had been both our dream and our nightmare fade silently into the distance. How could we have let it get so bad? How could everything go so wrong? Simon was right; there was no beast; we became the evil on the island.
It is hard to put into words how I feel, sat here. I feel evil, guilty, frustrated and confused all at the once but much, much more. I have Simon's death on my conscience from now until forever; it scares me; how could I an innocent schoolboy commit a murder? Piggy was wrong – we can't blame it on the terrible atmosphere, Jack or our loneliness.
It is unfair to blame Jack alone. Yes, he was corrupt and a terrible influence on us. He should never have hunted and he should have kept to the rules; I think that he realises now, though it is much too late. We should not have listened; the dance and the paint may have been his idea but we accepted it; we enjoyed it. It makes me want to be sick just thinking of the play; I wanted to hurt; I wanted to kill – that is what both scares and sickens me.
Roger sits alone in a corner at the side of the room. I hate him, I really do. He, and he alone killed Piggy; Piggy was weak physically but mentally he was a lot more stable than all the others. At first he annoyed me; I bullied him like the rest, to fit in mostly – nobody wants to be different for fear of being bullied as he was. When I first started to befriend him I felt sympathy but as we got to know each other better I stopped feeling that; I suppose it was empathy or if not that a decent understanding at least. In the end I was different – like he and Simon had been. Jack persecuted anyone who failed to follow his belief; his belief being that he was the next best thing to god, made me his third target; no doubt, in the end, had the sailors not arrived, there would have been many more.
Now we have to readjust to civilisation - but how can we ever forget? It is frustrating; after all I have seen and all I have done how can I still be called a child? I lack the innocence; children may be cruel or mean to one another but it is always petty. It is never about life or death. I always thought that this was something that was acquired in manhood; nobody is born bad, but in the right conditions they can turn that way. Perhaps this is why adults us euphemisms towards us; they embed morals into us so that when we finally have to face the evils of the world we have a better chance of taking them on and staying good and true to ourselves.
I often thought of home while I was on the island; I could remember the stories in the books, which my mother, used to read to me when I was young. They all had one underlying theme: Good verses Evil. Good always wins – the biggest childhood euphemism. So you see knowing all this makes it hard for me to be a child; what I lack is maturity of manhood.
I turn my head away from the sea and survey the rest of the boat; my head is hurting with the complexities of my thoughts. Roger is staring at me and I quickly look away. I cannot bear to even glance into his cold eyes; "a stick sharpened at both ends," a thought that will forever haunt me and sent a shiver down the back of my spine. The trouble with Roger is that if he says something, he means it. The stick was no blank threat; it was a promise. When I first met him I thought that he was a little quite, may be just a little submissive I would never have thought…then again who would have though that I could be responsible for a death?
Simon was a lot like Piggy; he would have made a great friend. He was wise – too mature for his own good. He understood first what the beast was; I comprehend now, but it took a long time. I try to find solace that at least he died for a reason; he helped me, and later the other boys, understand human nature. In time the other boys will understand too, for now the younger boys happily play.
I wish I were one of them. They are too young to comprehend the true nature of the situation they were in, and so they are happy just to know that they are going home at last to their mothers and fathers. It was no more than a game to them; one day though they will look back and see it for what it was; the horror, the terror and the destruction of a dream. I hope that they become better people for it. I hope that I too have grown. In time I will learn to forgive Jack and Roger, but never myself. I cannot justify Simon's and Piggy's deaths just for moral growth, may be I can use it to help ease my own personal guilt or give Simon and Piggy the dignity of a purpose to their too short lives. I will never forget them or the terrible lesson that they have taught me.