A/N: hmmm.enjoy. takes place after rescue.
If you hate this. Too bad. No one is making you read it! If you like it, woo! Review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing
"M-meh-mur.um," The boy struggled with frustration at not remembering. He caught a glimpse of the savage in full war paint in a mirror. Suddenly he remembered. "Jack." He finished decisively to the naval officer. But the oddness and confusion still plagued as he remembered the "clean boys". Ralph, Eric, and Sam.
They were washed and cleaned to their former glory from the plane. Ralph regained his pretty-boy charm even through the scars, burns and bruises. His hair was bleached from the sun, but his skin was lighter than Jack remembered, due to the lack of dirt. The overwhelming emotion of envy that once boiled his blood now simmered in the cool of civilization. Not deadly, but too wary to touch.
His people, on the other hand, Roger, Maurice, and the littluns, refused to completely leave their chief. The paint and clay remained, but only under the eyes. Jack was the only one that never even touched his paint, although the lust for blood also simmered while caged in the metal ship. Still, as Jack looked at the food in front of him, the fun and heat of the chase was lost. Hunger seemed to win out for a moment, but instead Jack just left the meat uneaten and retired to his room. He was asleep before he could change.
Ralph eyed the meat. Ham. Bubbling, boiling, dripping-of-fat, and fly-filled ham. Sacrificed-for-the-beast ham. The memories flooded his mind and made him want to retch. But there was nothing TO retch, and with that realization, Ralph became ravenous and ate the ham.
Jack tossed and turned. He was tiny, cold, and scared. And running for his life. Something was after Jack. But he wasn't cold any more-he was hot. Burning up. His flesh was nearly melting. He tried to stop his screams by biting his knuckles, but instead he felt a scabrous infection on his cheek. Jack threw himself to the burning bark of a tree and prayed for release.
The release he got was dark and dingy. He was no longer burning-but clammy. His stomach acids were eating his esophagus. He needed water. Jack needed water. But more so, there was a truth he had to let on. Luckily, his second man, Roger, and all his tribe was in the clearing. Jack was near delirious with happiness. But the moment he began to crawl on bloody joints, the sooty sky electrified and he saw there faces- hungry, scared, and savage. But that was overshadowed by a barbaric refrain as they encircled him. His friends began to bite. To stab. To kill. Jack unwillingly tried to get a point across, even as his voice box was ripped at. He tried to keep consciousness, but it was. so.hard.once again, Jack used his last thoughts to ask for deliverance.
Everyone was screaming. But it was too dark to see anything. Jack knelt down to the ground and ducked from the fights. Something smooth in his hands poked his chest as he attempted to be inconspicuous. After a few minutes there seemed to be a saving grace- a break from the war. A bit unsure, Jack struggled to his feet. The only security he had left was the fuzzy object in his hands. It was do or die. Out of the corner of his eyes, the lightning flashed and he thought he saw Ralph say something. But the ground rumbled and thundered. Jack looked up at Roger's grin of malice and his friends glee. And suddenly he was thrown back and remembered no more.
He whimpered in his sleep. The noise turned to tears that disrupted his dreams. It was a bad night for a small boy named Jack.
Ralph wandered the corridors after he left dinner early. The incessant cries to the left magnetically drew him to the cabin. He racked his brain to see who had also skipped dinner. But Piggy was right all along - they should have learned each other's names, but no one ever listened. "Sucks for your ass-mar." Ralph ruefully muttered, and he smiled for a second. When he found the door that the child - he assumed it was a littlun- he questioned for a second how to relate. The scar the plane caused was nothing compared to the rest vs Ralph.
But it all came to a grinding halt, stopped and fell when the door was opened. "Jack?" Ralph whispered incredulously when he was close enough to make out a face.
Jack sniffed and rubbed his nose, embarrassed that he was seen. Instinctively, he rose up, puffed out his chest, and balled up his hands into fists. "Get away." He snarled threateningly.
Realizing he would get nowhere with an imitation of Jack's war-like attitude- that almost burnt the whole island- Ralph tried to leave the room. But now, he hated to admit he cared to know why Jack was wallowing in tears. He didn't look so bad and savage now. He looked like a bony, tall redheaded, blue-eyed, streaked boy who really did like war games, like the officer said. The clay and paint ran from his cheeks and onto his clothes and hand. He wasn't Jack, or Jack Merridew, he was just "Merridew." Ralph began, thinking of what Piggy said. It was the first time Ralph called him by that.
Jack let go of his fists and looked questioning at Ralph. "Merridew?" Again, his earlier frustration came back and he struggled to recall."I can sing C#." He finally remembered singing. This made him smile ever so slightly. He looked around for the familiar midnight chorus robe, but it was burned. So he stood, uncomfortable and silly, in the middle of the cabin.
At a loss for words, Ralph used the only thing he could to explain. He took the mirror from the cabin and held it up to Jack. Jack studied the image. In that face he saw a boy who was the head of the chorus, not a tribe. A boy who said words like "wacco" and "wizard" and "smashing". A boy who could be a friend to and have a friend in Ralph. A boy who was the epitome of culture because he was British. A boy who died with the blood of a pig.
Jack's eyes averted from the mirror as he wiped off the remaining paint. He looked at Ralph. "Merridew." He smiled.
In the mirror, he saw himself.
If you hate this. Too bad. No one is making you read it! If you like it, woo! Review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing
"M-meh-mur.um," The boy struggled with frustration at not remembering. He caught a glimpse of the savage in full war paint in a mirror. Suddenly he remembered. "Jack." He finished decisively to the naval officer. But the oddness and confusion still plagued as he remembered the "clean boys". Ralph, Eric, and Sam.
They were washed and cleaned to their former glory from the plane. Ralph regained his pretty-boy charm even through the scars, burns and bruises. His hair was bleached from the sun, but his skin was lighter than Jack remembered, due to the lack of dirt. The overwhelming emotion of envy that once boiled his blood now simmered in the cool of civilization. Not deadly, but too wary to touch.
His people, on the other hand, Roger, Maurice, and the littluns, refused to completely leave their chief. The paint and clay remained, but only under the eyes. Jack was the only one that never even touched his paint, although the lust for blood also simmered while caged in the metal ship. Still, as Jack looked at the food in front of him, the fun and heat of the chase was lost. Hunger seemed to win out for a moment, but instead Jack just left the meat uneaten and retired to his room. He was asleep before he could change.
Ralph eyed the meat. Ham. Bubbling, boiling, dripping-of-fat, and fly-filled ham. Sacrificed-for-the-beast ham. The memories flooded his mind and made him want to retch. But there was nothing TO retch, and with that realization, Ralph became ravenous and ate the ham.
Jack tossed and turned. He was tiny, cold, and scared. And running for his life. Something was after Jack. But he wasn't cold any more-he was hot. Burning up. His flesh was nearly melting. He tried to stop his screams by biting his knuckles, but instead he felt a scabrous infection on his cheek. Jack threw himself to the burning bark of a tree and prayed for release.
The release he got was dark and dingy. He was no longer burning-but clammy. His stomach acids were eating his esophagus. He needed water. Jack needed water. But more so, there was a truth he had to let on. Luckily, his second man, Roger, and all his tribe was in the clearing. Jack was near delirious with happiness. But the moment he began to crawl on bloody joints, the sooty sky electrified and he saw there faces- hungry, scared, and savage. But that was overshadowed by a barbaric refrain as they encircled him. His friends began to bite. To stab. To kill. Jack unwillingly tried to get a point across, even as his voice box was ripped at. He tried to keep consciousness, but it was. so.hard.once again, Jack used his last thoughts to ask for deliverance.
Everyone was screaming. But it was too dark to see anything. Jack knelt down to the ground and ducked from the fights. Something smooth in his hands poked his chest as he attempted to be inconspicuous. After a few minutes there seemed to be a saving grace- a break from the war. A bit unsure, Jack struggled to his feet. The only security he had left was the fuzzy object in his hands. It was do or die. Out of the corner of his eyes, the lightning flashed and he thought he saw Ralph say something. But the ground rumbled and thundered. Jack looked up at Roger's grin of malice and his friends glee. And suddenly he was thrown back and remembered no more.
He whimpered in his sleep. The noise turned to tears that disrupted his dreams. It was a bad night for a small boy named Jack.
Ralph wandered the corridors after he left dinner early. The incessant cries to the left magnetically drew him to the cabin. He racked his brain to see who had also skipped dinner. But Piggy was right all along - they should have learned each other's names, but no one ever listened. "Sucks for your ass-mar." Ralph ruefully muttered, and he smiled for a second. When he found the door that the child - he assumed it was a littlun- he questioned for a second how to relate. The scar the plane caused was nothing compared to the rest vs Ralph.
But it all came to a grinding halt, stopped and fell when the door was opened. "Jack?" Ralph whispered incredulously when he was close enough to make out a face.
Jack sniffed and rubbed his nose, embarrassed that he was seen. Instinctively, he rose up, puffed out his chest, and balled up his hands into fists. "Get away." He snarled threateningly.
Realizing he would get nowhere with an imitation of Jack's war-like attitude- that almost burnt the whole island- Ralph tried to leave the room. But now, he hated to admit he cared to know why Jack was wallowing in tears. He didn't look so bad and savage now. He looked like a bony, tall redheaded, blue-eyed, streaked boy who really did like war games, like the officer said. The clay and paint ran from his cheeks and onto his clothes and hand. He wasn't Jack, or Jack Merridew, he was just "Merridew." Ralph began, thinking of what Piggy said. It was the first time Ralph called him by that.
Jack let go of his fists and looked questioning at Ralph. "Merridew?" Again, his earlier frustration came back and he struggled to recall."I can sing C#." He finally remembered singing. This made him smile ever so slightly. He looked around for the familiar midnight chorus robe, but it was burned. So he stood, uncomfortable and silly, in the middle of the cabin.
At a loss for words, Ralph used the only thing he could to explain. He took the mirror from the cabin and held it up to Jack. Jack studied the image. In that face he saw a boy who was the head of the chorus, not a tribe. A boy who said words like "wacco" and "wizard" and "smashing". A boy who could be a friend to and have a friend in Ralph. A boy who was the epitome of culture because he was British. A boy who died with the blood of a pig.
Jack's eyes averted from the mirror as he wiped off the remaining paint. He looked at Ralph. "Merridew." He smiled.
In the mirror, he saw himself.