"Fancy" the head sneers,
And in some distant part of my mind it screams:
'It's dead, it's not suppose to talk, or sneer, or anything at all!
Simon, what is this?
What is happening?'
But I keep my gaze focused,
Close out my frantic thoughts,
And say not a word.
"Thinking The Beast was something you could hunt and kill!
You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you?"
'Yes. Of course I know.
They don't believe me,
Can't seem to believe me,
but I do.'
My hands want to twitch and I feel faint,
But I keep as still as my shaking, terrorized body allows me.
It's voice imprisons me,
As its subjects swirl around its snout.
I glance away, but feel my gaze tugged back,
Back to the raven-black eyes of the Lord of the Flies.
The voice spins around in my head,
And I dig my nails into the ground for support,
Just when I fearfully realize:
I'm going to faint. Again. But this time before the lord.
When I come back to the land of the living,
I don't move to tell the others.
There's no point,
Because to them I'm:
Quacky, crazy, insane.
And they would never believe me,
Being a boy like that.
With nothing left to do,
I make the lonely journey,
Back to where the boys are.
So tired, I am so tired,
But I kept on moving.
I trip, falling on 'the beast',
Or so it had been proclaimed.
Foul smelling and not dangerous,
I felt the urge to tell the boys.
"Nothing to fear," I'd say.
"The beast is harmless."
When I reach them,
They are savages,
Chanting something terrifying,
Even more so when they turn…
And surround me.
Everything is confusing,
Until I feel the pain.
I try to block the blows,
As I realize in horror
That they think…
That I'm their beast.
Stabs come from every direction,
And I feel like the mother pig.
'Get away! Run!'
My mind orders,
But all I can do is stumble away,
Where I am suddenly falling.
More pain as I hit the ground,
And weight is piling on top of me,
Biting, hitting, tearing away at me,
As if I were just another hunt.
And maybe to them I am.
I can feel the blood draining from me,
Flooding out of many cuts and bruises,
Staining the sand around me.
Soon, wet droplets fall on and around me
And my attackers back away.
In my last moments I see,
Blurred thought it is –
"On the mountain-top the
Parachute filled and moved…
…The parachute took the figure forward,
Furrowing the lagoon,
And bumped it over the reef
And out to sea."
The beast was no longer needed.
For they were the beast,
And the beast was them.
I remember nothing more.