Originally an assignment for class, but do with it what you will.
I Walk Alone
The house was eerily silent, cold and unfamiliar after the warm, open environment of the island. It might have just been him, but from what SamnEric had told him, they felt the same in their flat. In the dark of the night, fog pressing gently against the windows, the contents of his room looked like something from a dream, a memory of another life.
A desk in the corner, a door to the bathroom with soap, a backpack dropped wearily by the door, and a bed, a real bed. How long had be spent dreaming of all these things? It just didn't feel right to want them anymore, after Piggy, or Simon. It hadn't surprised him when Roger and Jack came up with a memorial for the lost boys, trying to redeem themselves, whispering covers in the ears of the littleuns.
He sighs, his breath coming out in visible puffs because it is so cold in this room, and the island was never, ever this cold. Rolling over and over and around in the blankets, he burrows deeper, searching for the humidity of the island he would sell his soul to go back to, to change what happened. He falls into a fitful sleep thinking of what might have been if he had just been a little braver.
It is as if the sun is shining, beating down on him, hot and sweaty. His hair reaches the nape of his neck and when he looks around, he can see nothing but green. Deep breaths, he reminds himself. It's not real. He blinks, and suddenly he's on the island, watching as Simon is mercilessly slaughtered, watching as his own hands help.
He tries to turn around, to stop, but he can't move, he can't breathe, he can't do anything but watch. Simon's broken free, running away as fast as his legs will allow. But Ralph is faster. Barefoot, he races to catch up with Simon, and as he is screaming, trying so hard to stop, he blinks, and up ahead, he can see the white of his ceiling fan, mindlessly twirling in it's endless circles.
He sits bolt upright, panting and clawing desperately at the blankets, hot and warm after the vivid flashback. After climbing out of the bed, he paces wildly, not knowing what to do. What on earth do you do after knowing that men are monsters?
The next day, the black bags under his eyes are more prominent, contrasting sharply with his pale face. When he had first come back, they had been pretty much the only people in all of England with a tan. Now that the sun had washed itself out of him, leaving him cold and shaking, he was even paler than they were. If London was full of vampires, then Ralph was a corpse.
Even so, he was a corpse that had to go to school, so he got dressed in a shirt that hadn't been crusted over from month's worth of sweat, an actual tie, and shoes that still felt odd on his feet. He left for the subway without saying goodbye, and the boy selling tickets remembered him from the picture the newspapers took. That had been happening more and more lately, the recognition from strangers.
London hadn't seemed so crowded until every one of those strangers wanted something from him. The brick alley was crowded with boys and girls going off to school, and he shouldered his way past them to wait at the spot he was supposed to meet Sam and Eric (they were more separate people here, but from what he saw of them, they were still incredibly co-dependant). His old friends weren't the way he remembered, cheering on the war, yelling about the germans and how they would pay when they turned eighteen. Ralph had seen war like that, fought among boys not old enough to write properly, or boys who were too young to even fake joining the army. How someone could ever want that?
He looked around, nervous around all these people, twisting his neck to look behind him, only to recoil in horror when he saw who it was. Please don't see me, please don't see me, he thought as he sunk lower and lower in his seat. Jack and Roger stood in circle of other boys not fifty metres away. His train began to pull up to the station, and he sighed, grateful to get away. Sam and Eric are probably catching a ride to school with their dad. He reasoned. Just because Jack is here doesn't mean-.
"Well hey, stranger." He would never be able to forget that voice, screaming about hunting or control, or the way that the hand on his shoulder had killed. "Haven't seen you since the boat. This your subway?" He took two deep breaths before he even attempted to talk.
"Yeah, this is the one."
"Well then it looks like Roger and I get to go to school with you." Jack had managed to retain his tan, and when he smiled, he threw his head back enough to make him remember what Jack had looked like laughing at his proposal to go home.
"Roger's here?" His voice wasn't shaky at the very mention of the boy who had turned completely savage.
"Not yet. The nuthouse they put him in, Eichen House, they were so impressed with his behavior in setting up the memorial, in sending out all those letters," a pulse jumped in Ralph's jaw at the mention of those letters. "They decided to let him free by the end of the week, and I guess we all figured Pacific Prep was the best school." Jack's been smiling the whole conversation, but Ralph has gotten good at reading people's faces, and he knows exactly what is going on. How many of the boys from the island go to Pacific Prep? Excepting the odd littleun, all of them. He was trying to be back in power.
"Well then. I have some homework I need to finish, so I'll see you later." He knows that his own attempt at a grin is weak and faltering, and so the instant Jack is gone, he smooths over to his blank expression.
The day passes in a blur of waiting. Sam and Eric did, in fact, catch a ride from their dad, and were equally as shocked to hear appalled as he was to learn of Roger's imminent release. They caught glimpses of Jack throughout the day, working his magic charisma until he had a group of boys following him around. They glared, trying not to be seen, quietly discussing a petition they could enact to keep Roger safely in Eichen House, but they all knew that it could never really work.
That night he resolved to take a damn sleeping pill and get some rest. He was tired of being tired, and if adults could do it, then there was no reason he couldn't. He found a bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and filled a paper cup with water from the tap. Everything came so easily here, water, food, sleep. It was like he was seeing all of these things for the very first time. He wasn't sure how many to take, so he took the bottle and washed it down with the water. It all seemed very calm and pristine to him, especially with what was going on in his head.
Immediately after he took the pills, he began to feel tired, so he went to his room, determined to get some real sleep tonight.
It is hot again, his sweat encrusted clothes stick to him as he runs. He's not quite sure what he's running from, but he knows it's terrifying because his heart is pounding against his chest. He crashes through a clearing, not paying attention to the scrapes he can feel opening on his chest. In the middle of the clearing is Piggy's head on a stick, slowly being covered by flies.
"The other one, I warned him. I warned him not to interfere." Piggy's mouth moves in a shell of an imitation, and it's like Ralph is the one who isn't breathing.