A/N: Although, the 1963 movie (or the book) doesn't have a certain date attached to it for when the story takes place, I've decided to have it been set in 1944. My story will take place fourteen years later in 1957.

My Ages For The Characters

Jack and Ralph- Then: 12 Now: 26

Roger- Then: 11 Now: 25

Sam and Eric- Then: 8 Now: 22

The chapters and story are named after Depeche Mode songs.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Lord of the Flies.

1957: Lancaster, England

The excited scream of a child over the long Saturday known as summer holiday, took Jack out of a grimaced slumber. He turned his head to a little gold clock, revealing the time to be 6:15 am. Jack hadn't expected anyone to be up now, but he kept his eyes on the clock, listening to the child's laughter met by a few others.

He pushed himself up right, swinging his legs to the side. He pulled back a little of the beige curtains, allowing himself to see five boys running up the street together. Jack's face remained blank. He let the curtain swish back in front of the window, while he went to get dressed.

A box of cereal nearly hit the floor, after Jack opened the cupboard, but he caught it (by accident) in the nick of time. Since the box was already in his hand, Jack took a bowl out of the same cupboard and got a spoon out of the drawer. The last bit of cereal poured into the bowl. Jack dropped the box into the trash, before he let a waterfall of milk rush into a glass he would place near his bowl.

His shiny black shoes stay planted on the floor and his legs unmoving in his black pants. His upper body, covered in a light blue buttoned up shirt with a midnight blue tie, hunched over a little for him to bring spoonfuls of cereal from the bowl to his mouth. While satisfying his hunger, he took to scanning the articles of the newspaper he had grabbed off his front steps.

Something Jack had become accustomed to was the silence of his meals. If the television wasn't on, he was left to think about the lack of little children begging him to take them somewhere, the wife who wasn't cooking him up a batch of crepes, and the absence of friends for summer parties that would run long pass midnight.

(A/N: As for "the wife who wasn't cooking him up a batch of crepes", I know he could do it himself. I just figured that in 1957 men wouldn't be thinking of cooking for themselves.)

He washed everything by hand in the sink, which he put back in its original place. Jack strolled out the door, without the jacket to his suit because of the heat. He got into his sky blue Chevrolet bel air, catching a glimpse of three healing cuts under his eye. The sight of them brought shame to his heart and his eyes away from the mirror. Then, Jack drove away from the laughing, happy children; who were so innocent and carefree.