Phew. Edited version now. There are still probably a few errors, but at least it's done.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Word count: 1397
Of Drumbeats and Heartbeats
The sun beat down on the procession of black with a vengeance. There was no breeze to alleviate the intense heat; the boys simply continued to trudge through the thick wilderness. The heat was making Simon dizzy and delirious, but he didn't dare remove the long, frilled, black cloak or the woolen cap from his sweaty figure, lest the head boy get angry. He glanced behind him at the boys in his line. The light reflecting off of their silver badges almost blinded him, so he turned and faced the line leader again. He could feel a dull drum thudding somewhere deep within his brain begin to pound its subtle, hammering rhythm.
Far off in the distance, a shrill, howling noise echoed. Simon was frightened. The noise beat on mercilessly, with frightening repetition, like the heartbeat of a shriek. The leader signaled the boys to pause along the stretch of beach, and they begrudgingly complied. They stood and listened to the seemingly endless repetition the noise brought to the surroundings. Over and over it rang, until it became as regular as the sound of breathing that Simon felt around him or the heartbeat pulsing inside of him.
"'Tis a summon?" the boy standing next to him whispered to group at large inquisitively.
"Choir, stand at attention."
"What do you think we've been doing?" The voice was enunciated in an outraged whisper that made Simon's hair stand on end.
"Choir! We're going to find that noise! Perhaps it's a call from the School Proctor!"
The leader spoke with a voice that implied that he was not bothered by the mutinous attitude of the boys behind him. It was his simple indifference that caused the other boys to realize that he was still in absolute control, even considering the circumstances.
None of the boys dared protest.
Simon was getting increasingly weak as he moved across the sandy wasteland. Again, the only things he noticed were the sounds of labored breath around him ーor was it his own heavy breathing that he heard?ーand his furious heartbeat. The persistent drum beat furiously in the back of his head. The shrill noise from the forest had ceased to reverberate through the air. Simon was not sure weather this helped him at all. After about five solid minutes of the sound, its absence seemed to make him feel lonely and disoriented.
When at last the Choir reached the scar, they discovered that the noises had not come from the forest at all, but from the lagoon. There was a gathering of people around what looked like the silhouette of two boys. It was difficult to tell, however, because the sun was shining down on them at such an angle that the entire congregation seemed to be a giant, glowing mass.
"It looks like a light-bulb of people," Simon remarked to himself. "Probably doesn't have any inclination towards thinking any vaguely intuitive thoughts, though."
It seemed to be hours before the mass of black joined the group meeting on the platform. Simon was beginning to feel progressively dizzier, and the pounding drumbeat in the back of his head was becoming louder and louder with every step he took. He began to feel slightly panicky, but at the same time he was calmer and more reserved than he had been since the crash. He silently observed the meeting of people, and took great interest in the reactions of each and every one of the boys on the platform above them upon looking at their procession. He was desperate to take his mind off of his conditions and surroundings.
"Where's the man with the trumpet?" Jack inquired in a harsh tone. Simon could tell that he was looking up at the congregation with complete and utter contempt.
"There's no man with a trumpet. Only me," said a boy with fair hair. He was holding a delicate, white object which, upon further examination, Simon discovered to be a glistening shell. It immediately struck Simon that this fair boy had an air of authority quite simmilar to that of Jack.
"Good." Thought Simon. "A distraction. Keep talking, you two!" He pleaded in his mind.
"Well, isn't there a ship, then?" Jack asked in the same haughty tone. Simon could sense Jack's irritation, and could see that this would not end well.
"Isn't there a man here?" Jack's voice had increased in volume and seemed to increase in temper.
In his mind, Simon pleaded with the boy on the platform not to say anything to further Jack's anger.
"No. We're having a meeting. Come and join in."
Simon's mind froze, then began to race in two different directions at once. On the one hand, he was dreadfully scared of Jack's temper flaring out of control at the impudence implied in the tone of the fair boy's voice. On the other hand, he felt an immediate sense of admiration for this boy awoken within himself. Was this boy just challenging Jack because he didn't know better? For some reason, Simon didn't think so. The fair boy gave off an air of severity that reminded Simon of Jack, and yet seemed vastly different at the same time. Given what he saw of this boy's actions, he saw that this boy didn't seem to have been put in a position of power before. He didn't seem quite comfortable holding authority over all the island in his hand. If it had been Jack, on the other hand, the face above the glistening structure would have been laced with power-hungry pleasure.
"Choir. Attention!" There was a wave of vindictive pleasure and fury woven through the words the leader, Jack, spoke. He was reveling in the fact he still had complete power over his "army" of choir boys. Simon felt panicky. His dizziness was spiraling way out of his control. The beating drums in his head were pounding a rhythm that scared and fascinated Simon, but fear won over and he was too cautious to try and focus on them, lest he lose control of himself again. In the back of the group, a few of the boys raised protest in disheartened voices.
"But Merridew. Please, Merridew... can't we?"
Another wave of fear blew over Simon. He was concerned about Jack's reaction to this protest, but at the same time and, more importantly, he could feel the world slowly slipping away from his conscious grasp, like water out of his hand. Oh, how he wished he could have some water right now. His feet didn't feel grounded anymore. The heat didn't attack him, then all at once would turn on him with a ferocious vengeance, before deciding against it and ebbing away again; the gusts repeated in a vicious pattern. A non-existent breeze seemed to sweep through and across him, then a swaying movement sent a chilly movement of air through his cloak. He shivered and tried to keep steady and conscious.
"Focus on the trees," he thought. "They're stationary."
His gaze stayed fixed upon a tree. "It's a tall and magnificent tree," he remarked in his mind. "It's probably the ruler of all the other trees, even though it isn't the tallest and it's leaves are torn and raggedy." He didn't know why his eyes were drawn to this tree, but it seemed to steady his foothold and his dizziness was coming back under his control.
There was a magnificent blast of air from the ocean and Simon's last grip of consciousness was sharply being pulled from his fingers. The tree swayed and his stare broke. The dizziness hit him again at full force.
"Focus on the rocks, the sand, the water!" he pleaded with his mind, desperately. "Anything!"
He was mentally reprimanding himself now, and as he did so, the last inches of consciousness were slowly being drawn out of his body. The last drops of reality fell from his grasp, and he trembled with the realization that this time would be exactly like every other faint he'd had, and that the boys would either ignore him or laugh at him. With a desperate, failing attempt to pick up the last bit of his consciousness, he fell into the welcoming, hot sand. Everything was black and he was comfortable.