Ralph drummed his fingers on his thigh. The motion was comforting in its normality, its repetitiveness. He was trying to speak, but the curtain had flapped in his mind again and he had forgotten what he was talking about. He examined the room around him. He was sitting on a brown couch across from a woman with black hair. He gazed at the fake plant in the corner and the matching brown armchair the woman sat in. She was scribbling furiously on a pad of paper.
"The fire, Ralph. Something about a fire," the woman said, setting her pad and pen down. She sighed softly. Ralph could never let go of that fire in their sessions.
Ralph continued to drum his fingers. "The fire," he repeated, trying to break through the curtain. It was getting harder and harder to do as he grew older.
"Rescue," he finally said, his head slowly coming up so his eyes could meet with the woman's. "Rescue. We must build a fire."
The woman frowned. "Ralph you're not on the island anymore. Do you see?" He turned away from her. "You're not on the island," she repeated, louder and more firm.
"There's nothing to be rescued from," she finished softly, inching forward towards him in her chair.
Ralph scoffed and turned away. "Rescue," he muttered.
The therapist sighed again. "You were rescued, Ralph, don't you see? You were rescued from the island. You and all of your friends."
Ralph's head snapped back to her, his eyes wide and uncontrolled. She bit her lip, seeing that she had upset him.
Ralph stood and began pacing around the sparsely-decorated room, his hands held behind his back. "Not Simon. Not Piggy. We killed them. Murdered them."
The therapist sighed once more and straightened up in her chair. "There was nothing you could do to help that, Ralph. Nothing, see? It's a wonder that any of you got out alive." Ralph continued to pace. He was muttering something unintelligible under his breath. "Ralph, look at me."
He reluctantly turned to face her like a little boy, caught red handed.
"Sit down, Ralph. You look uncomfortable."
As if to solidify this image of a naughty little boy, he shook his head and looked down at his shoes. The woman rolled her eyes, stood, and crossed the room in a few strides.
"Are you still having those nightmares, about the beast?" she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Ralph shrugged off the hand shuddered. "Yes," he replied, turning so his back faced the woman and crossing his arms over his chest.
"There aren't any beasts Ralph, do you hear me? There aren't any beasts to be afraid of. You're safe now, do you understand?"
Ralph turned his body a quarter. His face held the bitter smile of one who had survived a terrible war.
"No."
Author's Note: So I wrote this as an assignment for English class and thought I might as well post it. I have no intentions of continuing it. Thanks for reading!