This is my first Lord of the Flies fanfiction, and I hope you all enjoy it. :) I read the book last summer, out of boredom more than anything, and I rather enjoyed it. I've also seen both movies recently, and I just decided that I really wanted to try to do some fanfiction. I love Simon, so it's in his . . . critical point of view.
Enjoy!
SECRETLY
Simon picked his way carefully through the forest of creepers and prickly branches, trying to find his head, trying to keep his thoughts with him.
It was a starless night, and everything in the forest was steadily creeping off to sleep and bedding down the for the nighttime. Simon himself felt nocturnal for being awake still. Like an owl flying through the trees, dappling its silky feathers with moonlight and shining water. . . .
Simon looked up for one moment and promptly tripped, falling with a light crunch onto the forest floor. Around his ankle a weak root was wrapped. Seeing it wedged feebly about his leg, Simon couldn't help but think that it was only but fighting in its one last battle for life, and felt horrid for unhooking his foot so selfishly. He did dearly wish he could help the poor plant, but he could only help so many. He was already in a constant battle to keep himself and the other boys alive. . . . He could hardly try more.
Simon thought that he didn't believein the beast; he was almost positive. But there was a small part of him that couldn't help but think that there was something more . . . something more to the beast.
Stealing out of the forest hastily, Simon did a quick jog to where he thought he saw Ralph standing by the ocean's edge. He reached out a hand to touch his friend's shoulder.
"Ralph—"
It wasn't Ralph. From behind, Simon hadn't noticed how much alike he was in comparison to Jack. Especially in the darkness.
Jack's eyes were narrowed hatefully.
"Ralph is sleeping. What do you want?"
Simon didn't know what to say; Jack scared him, and stole his breath away. He gave a small hiccup.
"Off with you, then," said Jack, the shadows coating his face like mud. Or perhaps that was clay; hunter face paint? "Be off. Sleep. Do something."
"What are you doing?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You should be sleeping."
Jack gave a sharp twitch that Simon winced from. He had thought Jack was going to hit him.
"Be off, then."
Jack gave a last curt nod that Simon had no response to. He dipped his head, his dark hair falling into his face, and padded away toward a shelter and sat beside it, hiding within the shadows.
From there he could still see Jack, who was still staring out into the ocean's surf, moonlight bathing him from head to toe. Simon wondered what he was doing; but then again, he didn't know why anyone did anything anymore. Life was pell-mell these days: do what you want, but do it secretly; don't work, but pretend to; rebel, but be sure to do it sneakily. Simon had no current worries that he wished to engage thought in, though, so he watched Jack, who seemed not to know he was being watched.
Jack sat down in the sand and wrung his over-grown hair with spindly fingers. As Simon watched cautiously, the red-headed boy gave a small groan of frusteration and leaned his head down upon his knees in a way that suggested despair.
But, Simon thought, Jack couldn't be despairing; Jack was never despairing.
Watching with light eyes still, Simon saw Jack's body start to bob up and down in a way that suggested crying.
But, Simon thought again, becoming more confused as the moments pasted, Jack couldn't be crying, could he? Jack never cried; he's a hunter.
Then Simon heard the tell-tale sounds that immediately pointed to tears. Jack was snivelling with a sort of gloom that Simon only heard these days from littluns, who had always teared up easily anyway. Jack coughed a bit on his tears, and gave his head a wild shake, now suggesting that the red-headed hunter was angry at his own weak tears—which was very likely, knowing Jack.
Pell-mell indeed, Simon thought calmly yet disgustedly, as he watched the fearless hunter weep. Do what you want, but do it secretly.