The End of the World
I collapsed. I was at the end of the world. The end of the island. The end of the forest. The end of my life. The fire destroyed any hopes of returning to the protective trees or the way things used to be before the conch shell.
It doesn't matter who killed Simon and Piggy because that shell was the reason for all of our trouble here. All the violence. All the death. That shell, which granted power to holder. That shell, that damned shell, was power, like an emperor's crown. And now I would die for it too.
It's stopped, all the noise but the popping, crackling gunshots of the inferno behind me. I looked up, searching for my murderers, my would-be murderers.
Oh, God. Oh God oh god ohgodohgodohgod.
Oh, my dear God and Mother Mary. I choked, choked back tears and laughter all at once. And all I could see was the man, the salvation and hope, standing right before my eyes. And all I could hear was my own self, mentally crying out 'Oh God.' I was going to live. My head fell back on the hot, sun-scorched sand for a moment. I didn't have the strength to hold it up, so great was the wave of relief that swept through me, like the exhaustion after a long workout. I giggled, still high on that drug of relief. Because, of course, I did just have a long workout. It wasn't really funny, but you'd be surprised what could seem funny when you've just been saved from a band of wild savages. In fact it all seemed so, so ridiculous now. Us prim and proper British schoolboys, no, choirboys, in our tattered clothes and war paint and spears and... it was just so, so hilarious.
I looked up again, wanting to see my savior and take him in. I remember vaguely wondering if he looked anything like Jesus and finding that inanely funny too. I giggled again.
And then I choked again. This time I wasn't choking back tears of joy or relieved laughter. No. This time it was realization. I was trying my hardest not to realize what I had already realized. Like trying to push the sun back below the horizon after it had already risen. It was like trying, like trying to get away from a savage. Because there was my savior, a handsome man in a naval uniform with his pistol at his side. A soldier. A hunter. A fecking, damnit, a fecking arse-headed God-damn-me-for-not-being-able-think-of-any-more-fecking-curse-words hunter. And then I broke down. My mind and my body were separated. I felt myself being led by a savage, with more savages following, to a small boat.
I wished, I wish I was dead. I wish I had died instead of Simon, instead of Piggy. Hell, I wish I had died with him. They were through with the savages. But me, no, I had returned to a whole damned world of savages, of hunters. All dressed up in nice clothes and playing war, like we did on the island. Only we hadn't played war on the island. We had fought a war. And so did they, out here. Savages, hunters, fecking hunters. Simon, Piggy, you lucky fools. May God help me. Like he did for you.
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A note: Lord of the Flies was a parody of true human nature. So how could Ralph be saved by a man? Reviews are welcome.