Author's Notes: Hello, Habits back again this evening with the dark fruits of a literature project. We read Lord of the Flies in my English class and let me tell you, my life was definitely changed. This project was written from the point of view of Roger, as you're about to see. The numbers before each little section signify which chapter said section was for. I hope you enjoy it, R&R if it pleases you.

∞ Fever ∞

1…

"My name is Roger."

Not much else to say, really. I sit, hunched and once again silent, in the shade of an overgrown palm tree, glaring out from underneath my black bangs. I keep to myself, and I like to make sure everyone knows it. Around me, children and young teenagers are clamoring and chattering away, clearly oblivious to the dire gravity of our little situation.

Jack is perched up ahead, red in the face and arguing with that fair-haired boy, Ralph. To the side of them, Piggy slumps alone, habitually cleaning his specs. It is then that a sudden commotion arises; our little group wants to choose a chief. How amusing.

"Let's have a vote." I speak again only to calm the inevitable storm and to hopefully keep Jack out of office, per se. I've been under his leadership for far too long and I can only take so much. Simon wasn't the only one close to fainting out there on that bloody beach.

Eventually Ralph is chosen as leader, but Jack is still in charge of the choir. In charge of me. He wants to make us hunters. I want him to soak his head. Those two, accompanied by Simon, head off to explore this "good island", leaving the rest of us in our squealing, teeming chaos.

I retreat deeper into the shade, gazing out. What will become of us?

2…

The impending downfall of our little attempt at recreating a proper society is more than clear to me now as I stand, rigid with both horror and a wonderfully sick sense of fascination, staring at the fiery carnage below me. Wicked tendrils of orange and red leap, shrieking, from tree to tree, engulfing everything in a hideous, glorious, flickering wrap.

How had this happened? Only moments ago, it seems, we'd been toiling away at something more controlled, more sensible. We had all made the fire together, us lost boys, but something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong. My realization that there is such a thin line between order and absolute raging chaos causes a thrill in me.

Ralph, Jack, and Piggy are hollering senselessly at each other, the anger, fear, and tension all twining together. At some point, as insults are flying and fingers are pointing, Piggy remembers that little boy. The one with the birthmark. Where did he go?

...Where will our sanity go, I wonder.

3…

There is mild dissonance among us, as to be expected. The little'uns do nothing, they just cavort around mindlessly, like flies on a carcass. If the big'uns aren't Ralph, Simon, Jack, Sam and Eric, or us hunters/fire tenders, they aren't much better than the little'uns. Things are sliding downhill faster than I thought they would.

Not much to do right now but work on the fire. I'm on my shift right now, the one I share with Maurice. It's about high time somebody comes and retires us, but so far, I can see no one coming. At this rate, I'm about to call it quits on this whole bloody fire and smoke thing, and somehow I doubt that we'll ever make it home.

...Maybe I'm counting on that.

4…

With Maurice trailing me, I trudge down the burning beach and through the useless sandcastles, ignoring Percival's sudden sobs as sand gets flung into his eye. Maurice seems guilty, as though expecting a reprimand, remembering the days when he would get punished for filling a younger eye with sand. Somehow, I can hardly care less. Let the kid cry, that's all he's good for anyway.

When Henry wanders off I follow him, some kind of intent in my mind that I'm unable to place. It's interesting to see how my arm works as I pick up stones and throw them in his direction. Without me thinking about it, they always land a safe distance away. Old habits really do die hard.

Jack is still obsessed with sticking his pig. He showed me his face-paint idea and acted like he'd discovered the cure for polio. I was interested, but only so.

I'm curious now, after seeing this display, if everyone had nothing to obsess over, if they would lose is quicker.

5…

Jack has his obsession, his ambition, his desire for power. Ralph has his needs, his responsibility, his authority. Piggy has his mind, his knowledge, his intelligence. Simon...has something strange. Something that none of understand, something that many don't want to understand. Thinking back now on the disastrous assembly, I turn it over in my head. What he actually managed to say wasn't nearly as strange as what he was trying to say.

Then there's Jack, who clearly never really learned how to shut up at all. He's making everything far worse for everyone with his thoughtlessness, his savage desires. I can hardly stand his stupidity.

Still. It'll be interesting to see how this all plays out in the end.

6…

Samneric found a new reason for us to be afraid this morning. There's something on the mountain now, some sort of beast from the air instead of from the sea. Its sudden arrival has spawned even more tension and confusion than we seemed prepared to believe possible. Now that we know that there actually is a beast, Jack wants to hunt it. Kill it. His obsessions remain insatiable, dangerously so.

We travel to the rock caves, where Ralph and Jack make a cursory check. There's nothing there, but Ralph continues to fret, to rage about his fire and his bloody smoke.

"You roll rocks!" Ralph is beside himself with fury at times like these, where he's not in control, when we don't even try to be productive.

"We've got plenty of time!" I shout, also letting my emotions get the better of me. It's not true, though. We practically have no time left at all.

7.…

Savage glee is a funny, wonderful feeling, I think. I start to forget who my enemies are or who my friends are. The difference fades and is replaced by instinct; to kill or be killed. The sudden lack of inhibitions provides such a strong sense of freedom. These are the thoughts circling in my head as I make the trek up the mountain with Ralph and Jack, both of whom I detest. Ralph is too soft, and Jack is always wrong. Simple as that.

I know as well as the others that we seriously both frightened and hurt Robert, and I almost feel sorry for the poor fool. He was just goofing off, and we turned a game into a frenzy. Once again, the line between order and chaos is apparent, and it is so very thin.

My recollections hit a literal bump as I sit down on a log next to Ralph. I think I might be irritating him with my tapping, but that is irrelevant. Jack went up to the mountain alone, to try and kill the beast on his own. Bloody idiot.

I hear a voice, letting us know that Jack has returned and he is terrified. He saw something on the mountain, something moving, something dark. It suddenly feels as though there is something everywhere, all around us, watching, waiting. It crawls on my skin, and I can tell the others feel it too. Is this...fear?

8…

I don't know what I'm doing. I must be mental. Off my rocker. Maybe I am. Yet, despite the overwhelming obviousness of this, I don't care. It's a good insane. For the first time, I feel empowered. Stronger. I'm ready to fight and kill, and I don't care what everyone else says. I especially don't care what Jack says. I may have followed him, but only for my own reasons. I am nobody's ally, and I am everybody's enemy.

Jack thinks we can sway most of the biguns over to "our side" by throwing a feast, which of course entails that we must kill a pig first. He's also got this crazy idea that the beast will leave us alone if we leave some of our kill for it. Are we sacrificing for a god now? It would certainly seem so.

As I think, we are running. A sow is what has caught Jack's fancy, and I can't say much against that. The chase is exhilarating, brilliantly so, and I don't bother to keep the war-like cry that escapes me as I attack the pig inside. I lunge and stab and feeling purchase, there's not much else to do but push. The world around me feels like it's throbbing and the sow's screams are wonderful to hear.

What do they always say about animal abusers? Aren't humans supposed to come next?

9…

The meat from the pig we killed doesn't taste like meat to me. It tastes deliciously like blood. It tastes like victory, like a way out of the oppression, like an OK to go ahead and do exactly what I want. I have never tasted anything so wonderful in my entire, worthless life. Everything has literally just become clear to me.

We start our chant again, and it vibrates in my veins, a mantra made for me and my dark desires. I can hardly breathe for the psychosis of my ecstasy, and the world is clear, tinged with a perfect scarlet. There's a cry-it hardly registers with me. Screaming is heard, a dark shape surges from the darkness, something about the beast-

With wild shrieks and howls, we fall upon it, everything in our hands being used as a weapon, as a means to kill. It's not a frenzy that overtakes me here-it's an overwhelming craving to kill, to mangle, to utterly destroy. I need it, I have to do it, I. Must. Kill. I don't care what I'm stabbing, what is screaming, begging, crying, I don't care what-or who-is bleeding.

This is what I was meant for, regardless of the consequences.

10…

My head between my knees, I stare at my bloodstained hands. These hands have killed tonight, but not alone. Others have tainted the victory my hands have achieved, and for that, I am angry. I need another chance, another chance to prove myself to this...this power. This power that I may or may not deserve yet, but I'd sooner die than not obtain it.

I leave to try and relax a bit, because Jack still has zero tolerance for insubordination, and it's all I can do to not strangle someone right now. I return to find Jack clearly past the brink of it all, ranting about how the beast came disguised and how we'll steal fire...why don't we just steal the glasses?

I am one of the hunters to go with Jack to pinch Ralph's last weapon, Piggy's bloody specs. The bringers of fire, the ones Jack cracked in his uncontrolled and misdirected hatred, the idiot. Something so fragile is so strong it is shocking. We fight for them, and win, of course. The darkness is always on the predator's side.

Stalking back along the beach, Jack is very nearly aglow with a kind of violent complacency. His behavior is sickening, but I let him do what he wants. It's none of my business anyway. I have my own quest to attend to now.

11…

This has all been dragged out for too long. I can't take this anymore. I simply can't. Nobody gets it, not even Jack, but that doesn't matter. What Jack says or thinks doesn't matter. I will do what I must, what I feel is right.

I feel that foreign power overtake me again and I fight the smile creeping up on my face. There's nothing to think about, not anymore. I know what to do. I push, putting all of my strength into this, letting that wonderful red haze flood my vision. The yearning to kill is powerful, and this ruthlessness is perfection. The boulder falls, and I can hear the screams like music to my ears.

Tonight, I am a murderer. I have found my purpose in life.

12…

I am meticulous with my work and giddy with something close to joy. I am very nearly delirious in my stupor, but I finally have it. That power I desired is now in my hands, and it runs like a liquor through my veins, just as intoxicating. The stick I am sharpening trembles in my sweaty grasp, almost like it's afraid of me. Another smile twists my face as I make the final cut. I've earned this strength at last-now it is time to use it.

The chase is long, and the fever thrumming in my blood is roaring, desperate to be calmed, to be controlled. Only Ralph's death will sate this endless pounding, this thumping, this drum-roll on the unfriendly side of me. Nothing but death will satisfy me, nothing but death at my hands. We are screaming, Jack, Maurice, Bill, Robert, me, we shriek like demons let loose in this world, and our power is all our own. My power is the strongest. We will kill tonight, and then every scrap of sanity will be lost to us, but that's how we want it, how we need it...

And then, and then, and then...

And then it's like waking up from a nightmare, crying and wailing and I'm so terrified by this blood on my hands.

…

End Notes: So like I said, this was a school project, although thankfully my English teacher is open to all sorts of literature perspectives, even violent and dark ones. So what do you think? Disturbing? That seems appropriate.