Stargazing
Simon sat on the cool stretch of sand watching the dark blue water wash up against the shore. His toes furrowed into the cold sand and he allowed the sides of his lips to tug up into a small little smile. He sighed in content; times like this when he was alone were the most blissful to him. The sound of the waves quietly splashing against one another eased his nerves, the strong smell of salt water and fruit helped relieve his throbbing headache; it was peaceful here.
No one to dote on him for being 'batty,' no one to call him names, no littluns to follow him around like lost puppies. He was alone, a status where he was most at peace.
He admired the ocean for a couple moments before turning his gaze to the sky. Without the bright city lights of London blocking the stars, Simon was amazed to how many of the glowing balls actually existed. They speckled the dark black sky in large groups, forming interesting patterns. Simon laughed to himself as he saw one that looked like a silly face, his eyes crinkling up and his lips parting into a little grin. A giggle bubbled in his throat and he laughed for the first time in what had seemed to be ages. It was silly, honestly, to be laughing at such an absurd thing. But he couldn't help it. It felt so good, being a child again.
The island had changed him; it had changed everyone. The littluns had grown−if only a bit−more responsible. They followed most instruction, their smiles weren't as innocent, and every night Simon awoke to one crying for their mothers or Ralph. He would stumble around blindly in the dark until he had found the crying child, and would quietly whisper words of comfort into their ear until they fell back into a restless sleep.
The biguns too, had gotten grimmer. Ralph didn't smile as brightly as he used to. He wouldn't notice Simon half the time and the other half was spent arguing with Jack or sulking in a corner. Most of Simon's own time was spent in his secret hiding place, as he wasn't really needed down at the base of the island. No one noticed that the little black haired boy was missing except Roger, who saw practically everything.
Jack was more angry than usual. He pushed the other kids around when he wanted his way and threw a fit when his ideas were shot down by an extremely blunt Ralph. One or two times he almost socked Simon in the eye, but the younger was smart enough to quickly step to the side to get out of the way.
He sighed, once again feeling the weight of stress setting on his shoulders.
He was thinking too much, and thinking caused grey hairs. He may have only been ten—or was he eleven now?—but he swore had plucked one out of his head just a day ago. You know there's something wrong when a little kid has this much stress. It wasn't healthy.
Simon groaned once, muttering a quiet "someone get me off this island before I actually go batty."
He heard a quiet chuckle behind him and he whipped around, his wet black hair slapping his cheek and sticking in place. "Who's there? It's not nice to spy!" he said snappily, not taking too kindly to the fact that someone was watching him.
"Relax, Si. It's only me." A lanky figure appeared from behind a palm tree, his body half hidden in shadow. The gruff tone was unmistakable.
"Roger."
Said boy chuckled and ran a hand through his thick black hair, attempting to move it out of his eyes but failing as the strands just crept back down into his face. "How did you know?" he asked, walking out of the dark jungle and standing next to Simon.
Simon looked up at the older boy and smiled slightly, "I've known you since the beginning of primary school, I think I'd know your voice when I heard it." They shared a quick smile before Roger plopped down next to him.
"So, what are you doing out here all alone? You're missing a jolly good fight down on the other end," Roger began, his eyes flashing as his lips turned upward. Simon just groaned and rested his head on his hands.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," the elder said, rolling his eyes. "Always fighting. Petty fights, at that! I'd like to see some real action, maybe a punch or two—" Simon shut his eyes and tried to block out Roger's dark ramblings. The kid didn't speak much, but when he got like this it was hard to shut him up.
"—a good punch in the eye would really set that Piggy straight, don't you think, Si?" Roger turned towards Simon for a response and was met with silence. "Simon—are you listening to me?" he snapped his fingers a couple times in front of the shorter boy's face.
Simon jumped a bit and came back to reality. "Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure, Roger," he mumbled absently.
Roger's lips tightened into a firm line and he felt the slightest spark of anger light in his stomach. It was quickly extinguished as Simon yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes, wobbling slightly. The elder resisted the urge to coo over the younger and reached an arm out, pulling Simon close.
A quiet gasp escaped Simon's mouth and his body tensed in surprise. Roger shushed him, using his palm to nudge the younger's head onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep," he said gruffly.
"But—"
"Shut up, Simon."
"Okay."
Simon's eyes flitted up to the night sky once more and he watched the constellations glimmer and shine. His eyelids drooped and his jaw slackened slightly as sleep began to takeover. Roger began humming an old choir boy tune as he watched the tide rise and fall. Alert as always, he noticed that Simon had gone limp and was beginning to slip down Roger's side. He chuckled quietly and propped the boy upwards again, his hand searching blindly for something.
Finally, he found was he was looking for and clasped their fingers together, giving Simon's palm a slight little squeeze.
"Goodnight, Simon," he said quietly, a small smile on his face.
Simon's lip twitched upwards a bit.
Goodnight, Roger.
A/N: Oh god sorry I said jolly good I couldn't help it you British people probably hate me 5evr for even mentioning that.
That was lame you all can hate me. I got bored.