The large group of boys shuffled calloused feet, unused to the cleanliness that now prevailed. Hair was short again, though what remained of it lay in dreadlocks on suddenly clean ears and faces. Roughly shortened bangs lay, forelocks to crown faces that had not been seen dirt-less for so long.
None of them knew how long they had been gone. Many could not remember addresses, or last names. Some, in the heat of rescue, remembered nothing. Some, young, the youngest of them, remembered nothing, nothing of life before the island.
Each boy had received as close as they could to a proper bath and haircut, they were, if not clean, no longer quite so earth covered. Each of them had been spoken to, asked names, information, where had they come from? How long had they been there?
Some knew, as I said before, some knew, but most, did not. So many had no concept, and none knew when they had arrived on the island. Ralph had been questioned the most. As leader, as previous, he reminded himself, previous, leader, he had been questioned on the happenings of the island.
He had shocked the officers with his stoic attitude. He seemed too mature, like a man who had just returned from a war, a man, not a boy. Ralph was far too in tune with suffering, far too knowledgeable on the subjects of death, and suffering.
This boy was a man. One just returned from war as much as they themselves, more than some.
Ralph now sat, his knees drawn up to his chest. Try as he might, he could not decide what it may be like, returning to a society where he would have adults to guide him. Would he be happy? Or after all his experience, would it seem stifling? There was no doubt that he was no longer the same boy he had been when he had landed on the island. Would he see his father again? Would his father be able to comprehend the change?
There was something in Ralph that made him guess that it would take time for his father to understand the change. He glanced around, he wanted to keep his thoughts in the present, his guard, it was still up, and it must stay that way until he was away from…
Jack was in the same position as Ralph. Roger was giving him looks, awful looks. Perhaps he thought that it wasn't fit, to someone like Jack, to suddenly curl in such a submissive position. Jack did not care. He was deep in thought.
What would he do, without the hunt? What happened, when morals returned? Would he feel guilty? He didn't yet. It was impossible, to feel guilt yet. Somehow, the deaths on the island already seemed far away. They seemed like something that had happened in a world of pretend that had just been left behind, outgrown.
He remembered, slowly the memory, so long forgotten, returned to him; The memory of landing upon the island, what he had been like. Had he changed? Was he so different from the confident boy who'd walked in, used to being in charge, and been turned down.
The thought made his blood boil. He couldn't stand the memory of Ralph gaining the power he had wanted. His fist clenched and unclenched, his nails dug red semicircles into his palms. Jack could not stand the realization that, once back in the adult world, he would be denied power again. Of course he would be; adults had the power. Adults… they would be worse than….
Ralph stared at Jack, who had apparently not yet noticed. He watched the anger flash just bellow the surface of the red capped face. Ralph felt the same fear that had consumed him on the island, though it was lesser here. Fear that Jack may lash out, that Ralph may consequently re-complete the group that he Piggy and Simon had so lately comprised.
There was only a slight sense of security in knowing that there were adults here. Security, sadly, unable to overcome paranoia bred on the island. Strange as it was to be on this ship, rescued, it was stranger still to think of society back home.
Thinking about society, about order, and reason, forced Ralph onto a thought he'd been adamantly avoiding, Piggy. Piggy, who wouldn't be coming home with them. Piggy, who'd been their link to the society they would now return to. Life wouldn't be the same, no; it wouldn't be the same anyway.
Ralph felt almost guilty that he should be going home and not Piggy, Piggy deserved to go home. Piggy had never deserted Ralph, not as Ralph had so often abandoned Piggy. The fat child with his ass-mar, he had stuck by Ralph, no matter how badly Ralph had treated him.
Ralph's eyes landed again on Jack, and suddenly they blazed with angry tears. Jack, it was his fault, all his fault, he had lead to the chaos, and, to Piggy's death.
Ralph realized, guiltily, that he had never even learned Piggy's real name. He would never know. Piggy's parents would never know their son had died. It was Ralph's fault. Why hadn't he asked? Again, Ralph was angry with himself, but still angrier when his eyes fell again upon…
Jack wasn't thinking about Piggy, nor Simon, nor the small boy with the mulberry mark upon his face. No, Jack was thinking, as he had for so long, about the hunt, about power. The hunt, he decided, had given him power. The hunt, it could not end just because they left the island. He wouldn't stop it. It would continue on, a living creature he could not bare to kill.
Odd, that this was the creature he couldn't kill. For this, it lived inside of him. The humans hadn't. They had threatened his power, not fed it. Piggy, he had been a threat. Ralph too. Jack leered at Ralph, who looked away, he'd been staring. Jacks leer turned to a smirk. He still frightened him, good. Ralph should be frightened. Jack was a threat, and that's what Jack wanted; to threaten.
Something inside of him told him that shouldn't be what he wanted, but it was. He cursed that moral, drove it from his mind. He wouldn't succumb to them, to manners, to morals, to society. He'd continue on in his same way, he would continue to be chief. He would continue, to threaten…
Ralph tore his eyes from Jack. He couldn't look any longer, he had to look away. Tears filled his eyes, and he scrubbed at them. Why was he crying? There was no reason, no reason at all. However Jack, he was such a terror, such a symbol, to Ralph at least.
Jack was power, Jack was death, Jack was hate, and greed, but most of all, Jack was the end of innocence.