A.N: I own nothing of this, and everything is entierly made up, I have nothing to give to you nut a plain idea that would not leave my head.
And honestly, if your going to review, be mean and brutally honest. I like it. (Just joking, but it helps if I continue this)
Prologue
He had met William in university, himself justfinishing and Williamteaching last year. He had spoken to the older man may times over the next few years. He had just gotten a publication for his last book when he finally questioned Ralph about the events that took place in his past, Ralph felt obliged to tell him. For there had been many stories about what had happened on the island and Ralph thought he owed him the truth.
William had sat shocked, disbelief, revulsion, confusion, mutating his face through every new turn of his past.
"Ralph, I had no idea, why didn't you ever tell anyone?" but his story had changed their friendship, for everyday after that, Ralph looked into his eyes.
And Ralph saw pity.
They had lost touch, not long after he told his story to William, Ralph thought he might never hear of him again. Yet, one day, as he walked down a busy street he passed a bookstore, and on the shelf, a new release. A pigs head, dead eyes, eyes that still haunted him, looked back through the glass. The Lord of the Flies, by William Golding.
Ralph had never known that his life would one day be published on paper, and what a way to be remembered, not for the truth, but a child version, a book to be studied for human nature, but even that book didn't delve far enough, for his consisted of far darker events than any book could have grasped.
His life was not meant to be published, but this book was a lie, his past was not for any others eyes but his, and it was his turn to write it out, if only for himself and the boys that had experienced it with him.
The story of their past didn't begin when they were young boys, their minds already had the subtle knowledge of darkness and evil. Attending an all boys school, they were exposed to such things much earlier on. They had already had the growth to make them look awkward and thier voices ceased braking when stressed, at the age of sixteen they had gone out of London because of the war, but it wasn't until much later that they events came to a close.
But boys who have knowledge of power, control, lust and pain, boys who have grown around the coming of war, boys who are still trying to understand the evil in human nature are capable of much more than any young boys would be. Ralph had the scars to prove it.