AN: What spawned this was looking for Sound Horizon fanfiction and finding Lord of the Flies fanfiction instead. Then, I suddenly remembered that I loved Simon. So, this is a tribute to him. (Hey, a tribute doesn't have to be all sunflowers and rainbows, you know! xD)

Warnings: Blood. Gore (well, kinda). Character death. Rating can (and will) be changed on request.

As always, critiques and such are loved.

Simon didn't know how many times he had fallen.

He was trying to run, but the thick brambles and undergrowth impeded his progress, slowing it down to almost a crawl. He was caked with mud and blood. When he had first started, his legs were filled with pain. (He had wondered briefly, a mere flash, whether he had fractured or broken one.) Now, however, they only ached dully, an annoyance but nothing more.

As he got nearer to the coastline, Simon grew more eager, more frantic. He tried to scramble over the rocks but, instead, was tripped up by them, landing face first, entangled with vines. The more he fought to free himself, the more trapped he became. It felt like an eternity before he finally pulled the leaves off himself and continued on his way.

Just a little bit further.

Simon's mind, which had previously been blank, suddenly swarmed with possibilities.

(Once I tell them, they won't be so afraid.)

The littleuns won't cry in their sleep, won't wake up in the middle of the night screaming, anymore.

(Once I tell them, Ralph and Jack will be able to reconcile.)

The group won't be broken up anymore. Everyone will be friends again.

(Once I tell them...)

Suddenly, Simon saw the fire, heard the cheers, smelled the meat.

It was a feast.

A wild, savage feast.

The boy shuddered at the sound of it, at the feel of it. The air felt horrible. He could not shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen, something horrible was about to take place.

(And, he would be a mere bystander to it all, unable to do anything.)

Simon shook off the premonition and rushed from the forest, towards the fire. He was awkward in his course (his arms were stiff, his legs ached), and his descent was heard by all before he reached the clearing.

Then, they set upon him, as if he were a monster.

Their sharpened sticks stabbed him. They were clumsy, so at first they only scraped him, missing the vitals. They became more determined, stabbing furiously, piercing through skin, hitting bone.

"The beast! It isn't--!" He gasped out in pain as one's spear stabs through his arm, breaking through the skin on the other side. "It's only a body! On the hill!" After a while, he did not try to speak anymore.

The others would not listen.

The others could not listen.

All they heard was the thumping of their own hearts. All they smelled was the blood that they had drawn. All they saw was the horrific form of the beast that they themselves conjured up.

Simon tried to protect himself, cover his neck, cover his head. They did not seem to notice and just simply pierced his body with the sharp points, over and over and over again. They stabbed wherever they see. They threw their spears at whichever point they could reach.

They did not know how to kill painlessly.

They only knew how to kill.

Somehow, someone managed to pierce his throat, and Simon sputters out blood.

Tears formed in the boy's eyes, slipping silently down his cheeks.

(Was he crying because of the pain?)

(Was he crying because he feared death?)

(Was he crying because he was about to die by his friends' hands?)

(Was he crying for the sake of his friends, who have to live with the guilt of having killed one of their own?)

Or, was he simply crying because he did not know what else to do, because he had failed in his warning, because he was at a dead end and couldn't start over?

Even Simon himself didn't know the answer.

And, as the party backed away, murmuring in confusion, then in realization, Simon was coated in his own blood, was choking on his own tears. He gave one last shudder, one last cry, and was dead.

Later, when everyone has left, the tide comes, gently encasing Simon in warmth. The water washes out the mud, the blood, making the boy seem real, seem human, again. It caresses his cheeks, wiping away his tears. Finally, it comes and takes him away.

The sea is the origin of mankind.

Now, it is the boy's final resting place.

AN: I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this.

The sudden tense-change in the last part is intentional. Tell me if it works or not. (I'll change it if enough people tell me to.)

Also, sea = origin of mankind stuff? Science.

Sorry if it sounds out of place.