Sea sprayed at the thick air as the tide pulled in. In the distance, an eagle called its cry of yearning and was met by many other shrieks piercing the air. The wind blew through the palm trees. They whispered softly the secrets of the mysterious jungle they guarded, with its suspicious shadows and muddy paths. This whispering is what plucked the young girl from her suffocation.

She gasped before anything. The air was dense and warm, doing close to nothing for her oxygen-exhausted lungs. Her brown eyes fluttered open and drank in her surroundings. The strip of land she lied on was stiff and slightly damp, just like her neck. White foam tickled her toes while her blonde hair tickled her cheek. Languidly, she rose to a position propped up on one skinny elbow. Her head pulsated and her white button-down was ripped vertically down one sleeve. Her shoes and socks were nowhere. She was robbed of whatever wisps of memory she had had left. Then the raven washed up.

Its fabric was black and silky, inevitably unaffected by the salt and water that inhabited the ocean. The silver badge shone brightly in the sunlight, almost too bright for the girl's eyes to recognise in her fragile state. She touched it and felt something tugging at her brain, kneading and pulling.

Honourary Pilota of the Seven Seas

There was something about it that made her cringe. Something was off about this bird. She picked up the hat and examined it closer. The silver badge gleamed as before, but with a tinge of dark red. There was definitely something forming in her brain, a storm dwelling and building. She almost had it, the priceless (and possibly life-saving) memory was toying with her. It was right on her dry, swollen tongue.

A trumpet.

The noise was distinct as it cut through the air. She sat up, fully on her knees before collapsing once more. Her thin fingers knotted in her hair as she leant her forehead against the cool walkway. The air circled her nearly bare legs, blew up the hem of her skirt playfully. It was the plane. The plane had crash-landed somewhere on their way back home.

The trumpet again.

She picked herself up and sluggishly made her way towards the far end of the strip. A deep scar in the forest captured her attention. Her hair hung in her eyes and she hastily ran a hand through it, shoving it briskly off her face in pursuit of a better view.

The trumpet gave off a short blast. Once. Twice. Three times.

The girl with the brown eyes hurriedly pulled herself together and shed her school cardigan where she stood. Her head was much clearer and she acknowledged about fifteen figures on the horizon, ranging from the height of her shoulder to slightly taller than she.

As she approached, a large boy with gleaming specs veered in her direction. "What's your name?"

Hesitating before she spoke, the girl cleared her throat and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a regnant air, "Violet."

The pudgy boy repeated the name to himself before moving on. Violet looked around her for the source of the noise that had sucked her in. The spate of wild boys jumping about was enough to make her head swim. She didn't suspect any of them could have made such a noise, but-

Another triplet of short blasts.

Violet whirled around and peered into the eyes of a boy about three inches taller. He had fair hair and was wearing the same uniform as the rest of the smaller boys, except he had discarded the navy jacket. In his hand, he held a creamy shell and was pulling it away from his mouth.

"Did you just make that noise with a shell?" She questioned, incredulously. He nodded proudly before the enormous boy from before butted in.

"That shell is called a conch, and I found it!" He countered.

"Well, I blew it, and I summoned everybody, so that's just too bad." The fair-haired boy retorted. His voice was slightly deep and soothing.

"You know I can't blow it on account of my asthma!"

"Sucks to your ass-mar!" He smirked before giving the conch one last blast. The fat one reverted to his shady corner against a leaning palm.

"What's your name?" She demanded the taller boy.

"Ralph," he responded authoritatively. "Yours?"

"Violet," She replied. "What about that other kid? The one with the ass-mar?"

"I don't know, I hadn't really thought to ask..." He trailed off. "Hey! Boy!"

About eight boys snapped to attention before they realised which boy he was addressing. Said boy lumbered in our direction with a pathetic look on his face.

"What do they call you?" Ralph postulated. The boy took off his specs and rubbed them against his greasy blazer before replying.

"I don't care what they call me, as long as they don't call me what they did at school." He looked at his chubby fingers, embarrassed.

"What did they call you?"

The boy looked over his shoulder and uttered a single, derogatory term, "Piggy."

Violet controlled her amusement, as she had been brought up to be a lady. Ralph, however, had no such desire.

"Piggy! Oh, Piggy!" He jeered at the red-faced boy. A few other boys were provoked by this outburst and started up as well, even thought they had not a clue as to what they were laughing about.

"Alright, alright!" Ralph tried to quiet them. "Enough!" The sudden silence was deafening.

Violet stood slightly apart from the group, feeling a bit awkward. She was the only female as far as she could tell. Aside from Ralph and Piggy, there seemed to be only one or two other boys around their age. She impulsively dropped her attention onto Ralph.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words could exit. This was due to the distant buzz of voices in the extent of the sandy path behind the group. The harmony grew louder in proximity but not in words.

At first, the group didn't know what it was. It looked like a single creature the colour of the raven and as it swarmed in their direction, a littleun squeaked in terror.

As they shifted closer, the different figures became more distinct. One boy led the rest with a face like a demagogue and an air of condescension. His hat was tight on his head over his reddish hair and distinguished him from the rest of the cluster by a silvery badge. All were wearing long, charcoal cloaks with silver crosses on the left breast. When they got right in front of the others, the leader opened his mouth.

"Choir, halt!" He demanded. They halted.

One boy suddenly fell out of juxtaposition with the rest. He landed on his stomach and about half the choir promptly scooped him up and laid him in the shade.

"Is that kid alright?" Ralph demanded bravely.

"Oh, Simon faints all the time, don't even bother." The seeming-leader didn't appear to give the boy a second thought. Violet stared at him in disbelief and was taken aback when he met her glance with his own. His eyes looked past hers and almost into her. They slowly dragged down from her eyes to her feet and flickered back at her face.

"Who's that?" He stared pointedly in her direction. Violet scoffed, attempting to give off independence, but was undermined by the flush of her cheeks.

"I'm Violet." She emphasized for the third time today. He turned back to his choir, not deigning to introduce himself.

"Togs off." He spat. The group dropped their heavy cloaks with a whoosh. Their red faces looked relieved. Violet turned to her left and, facing the forest, noticed that no one removed Simon's cloak. While Ralph and the even taller choir boy conversed, she slipped behind the rest of his choir and unfastened the brass clip around his neck, letting the cloak puff out and fall flat onto the white sand.

He still lied motionless, so Violet reached for the hambone frill around his neck. Her cool fingers grazed his neck and his eyes shot open. They were a dull blue and his shock of black hair flopped over his forehead.

"Sorry," she whispered. "You looked overheated."

"Thanks." He mumbled and brushed himself off. He stood up and walked over by the rest of the choir.