Yeah, my first and last Lord of the Flies story. We had an assignment in English class to write a scene from Lord of the Flies that could have been in the story, but was never shown. We also had to imitate Golding's writing style as much as possible (though I'll fully admit that I flat-out ignored this for the sake of the last line). This is my novelization of the scene where Jack and the others killed a pig when they let the fire go out. Then I figured I could use a little more response than an A or a B or whatever I end up getting on this, so hey, why not post it here. Enjoy!
The Lost Scene
The underbrush was thick with vegetation, and the air felt the same with heat and moisture brought from the sea. The sun would have been shining brightly above if not for the thick ceiling made by the treetops. It seemed almost like twilight, with only the harsh temperature to remind the five hunters otherwise.
The boys moved through the dense growth in single file; Jack was in the front, followed by Roger, Samneric, and Bill. Each held a sharpened stick closely to their side, and a knife hung from Jack's belt. Where Jack walked, the others followed silently. The rest of the world was long gone to them. For the moment, none of them remembered that the island wasn't really where they belonged, nor even that Ralph and the others were waiting on the other side of it. If one of them was asked at that moment who their leader was they would have said Jack. On and on they traveled, none of them with any idea where their final destination was, only that they were looking for meat. For a pig.
The air buzzed with the sound of flying insects. A large group of flies seemed to be following the boys, as if waiting or expecting something from them. It wasn't long before all of them were swinging at the air with their spears, trying to put at least one of the annoying little creatures down. The flies did not care for their annoyance or their feeble attempts to shoo them away.
"Jack, can we stop for a min'?" said Bill. "My legs are cramping up." Samneric said nothing, but were clearly thinking along the same lines.
"Sucks to your cramps." Without looking back, Jack kept moving. Roger gave him a nasty grin before following.
The flies began to get slightly thicker. Far from daunting Jack, their resistance seemed to affect him like a stimulant. He walked faster still, forcing Samneric to trot to keep up with him.
The ground was littered with small rocks and hardened twigs that stuck out of the soft earth like daggers. If they didn't pay close attention to where they were stepping the boys would feel a sharp pain underfoot within three seconds. Jack waited for nobody, but several times the twins would allow themselves to fall behind for a few moments to pluck the detritus of the jungle floor from their soles.
At last Jack halted. He held up one hand for the others to wait silently. He crouched, then began to slowly move forward almost on all fours like an animal. After about three yards he stopped at the base of a tree. He turned his head and motioned for the others to take a closer look.
It was a small pile of dung, brown and tinged with green. The flies swarmed around it like electrons orbiting the nucleus of an atom, planets and comets and asteroids traveling around the sun. They formed a living sphere around it, a defensive barrier between it and anything that may want to claim it as its own.
Jack stuck his hand into the swarm without hesitation. The insects scattered briefly, but assumed their previous positions almost immediately. Jack stuck his fingertip into the pile and brought it back up. He brought it close to his face, sniffed it, took a small taste, then grinned through the paint and clay on his face to the rest of his hunters.
"It's fresh, boys. We're gonna be eatin' meat tonight!"
It wasn't much as far as motivational speeches go, but it earned a loud cheer from the rest of the boys.
They pressed on with renewed vigor. Now neither rock nor stick in the ground could slow down their progress. Jack remained in front, keeping his nose close to the ground like a hunting dog sniffing for his quarry. Samneric were almost skipping. Bill possessed a certain spring in his step and smiled. Roger and Jack both moved forward with a slightly hunched posture, holding their spears ready at their sides, but wore small smiles all the same.
Suddenly Jack stopped and motioned for the others to be quiet again. He stood perfectly still, rigid, a stone gargoyle keeping a vigilant watch over a cathedral. Twice he cocked his head as if listening for something. Then he walked slowly until he was looking over a large bush. He turned around to his eager companions and gestured noiselessly for them to come over. They peered over the top of the plant to see a fat, well-fed pig, lying, relaxed but not yet asleep, in the relative coolness of the jungle shade.
Jack licked his lips in anticipation and gave the boys silent instructions. He pointed to each of the boys in turn, then made a circular motion with his arm in a certain direction to indicate where they should go. Jack went ahead to the front, Roger stayed at the back, Bill took the left, and Samneric moved to the right. Each of them tensed in their positions, bowstrings ready to be released. The air was quiet, except for the buzz of the flies that had continued to follow them.
The silence was shattered by Jack's bloodcurdling scream as he burst from the bushes like water surging out of a dam. The sow squealed in surprise and fear, hopped to its feet, and turned to run away. Roger, however, was already there. His spear shot forward and grazed its side, making a shallow but wide gash on the pig's flank.
Samneric and Bill were there by now as well, their screams joining those of the others. They stabbed forward with their spears and stuck them into the pig again and again. Their tips were stained red. Roger bowled over Sam, who crashed into Eric, in his attempt to retrieve his spear, but neither of them, seemed to notice.
It was a primal frenzy, those next few seconds, that seemed to stretch into a blurred eternity for the hunters. Spears sank into flesh, were yanked out, then brought back in again, each thrust taking away a little more of the pig's life, every drop of blood lost a second less that the animal had left to live. Never was there a pause in the incessant noise, whether it was the agonized scream of the pig, their own savage cries, or the excited buzz of the flies that were already swarming around the animal's wounds.
At last, Jack's hand, guided by no conscious thought on his part, but the darkness within him and all of mankind, reached for his belt. There was a flash of silver as the knife plunged toward the pig's throat-
And so the first blood was spilled on the island, but certainly not the last.