Days Gone-By: A Lord of the Flies Fan-Fiction
A/N: I had to write an epilogue for English class on one of the characters from Lord of the flies; I chose Ralph. Here's hoping you like it!
"Ralph," she whispered softly, putting her hand on my wrist. "You don't have to do this." But I did; couldn't she understand that? I DID have to do this. There were no other options; I had quite literally tried EVERYTHING. Every anti-anxiety medication, every anti-depressant medication, multiple different counselors, group therapy and the likes.
I gazed at her with loving fondness; this remarkable woman, my wife of eight years, usually understood me. It wouldn't be right of me to be cross with her now for not understanding this one thing. After all, nobody really understood this one thing: not my parents , not my teachers, not even any of the counselors I'd had over the years. Nobody who hadn't been there could possibly understand, which was precisely why I had to go back.
"I'll be okay."
Had eighteen years really elapsed since I had been twelve? Had the better half of one and a half decades melted away since I last set foot on this Island? These were the questions I asked myself as I stood on the edge of the ground, glancing around nervously.
"Do you want me to come with you?" asked the friend I had begged to fly me there (he has a private helicopter, you see.)
I shook my head. "No; I think it's best if I go alone." He nods with understanding, and I am left alone to my thoughts again. Looking around, I noted that though island wasn't as luscious as it had once been, having been lit on fire shortly before our departure, the years of solitude had worked to its advantage: the bushes were growing haphazardly, just as they always had. As well, the trees were doing all right again, despite the deep scorch marks etched onto their trunks. I began to walk, slowly at first, but gradually increasing my velocity as I went along. I ceased when I recognized the spot where our huts had once been structured. They were long gone of course, but I could still see them more clearly than I saw the emptiness now in front of my face.
Moving forward, I passed the rock in which I had once stood, summoning the others by means of the conch. I stopped for a moment again when I remembered another particular spot: this was where the fire pit had been, I realized, as remorse caressed every morsel of my body. Here was also where Simon had been mercilessly bludgeoned to death, a memory in which even I held no innocence. I bent down and found two sticks, one decently larger than the other, and placed one down vertically and the other down on top of said stick, that one horizontally. It wasn't much, but I felt better knowing that I had at least paid some sort of homage to Simon. I considered saying some last words, but my throat closed up: I mean, what could I possibly say to him? "I'm sorry you're dead because I was an idiot?" Sometimes silence was better.
On I went, not stopping now until I had reached the hill where Piggy, too, had succumbed to the dark side of human nature. The rock that had ended his life still sat there, seemingly undisturbed by the flames that had once engulfed the vicinity in which it rested. Looking closer, I could still make out traces of his blood, forever etched onto the minerals...
"We might have to live here for a long time! Maybe the rest of our lives! If we are stuck here until we get old, then we can't go on acting like kids! We've got to be sensible and make things work!"
I looked up just after Roger shoved the boulder off the cliff.
"NOOOOOOOO!" I had screamed helplessly, as though hoping that my cries of anguish would somehow desist what was about to happen.
Piggy was killed anyway.
I resurfaced to the sunlight of reality and found myself staggering forward onto the rock; I resisted and flew upright again. Panting heavily, I pushed my fair hair out of my eyes as I retracted my steps: there was still one more thing to see. Convinced though I was that it had surely been extirpated in the conflagration, I had to be absolutely sure that it was gone. I began to trail through the blooming forest, beating through the creepers as I made my way. I found it considerably more difficult with clothes on my back and shoes on my feet, but I made do with the socially acceptable norm. I walked until I reached the cave in which the supposed "monster" had resided. I looked inside, and, to my intense surprise, saw nothing.
I ducked into the mouth and began slithering through, taking in the smell of mildew as intently as I listened for sounds of movement. Nothing; no monster in here. I gave a dry laugh as I turned and stooped out again. Moving in to the fresh air, I glanced around and so no sign of a pig skull; feeling deeply relieved, I went back to the open Island.
"Are you ready, Ralph?" Inquired my friend.
"Yeah...I think I am," I replied.
He nodded at me, and without another word we got into the airplane. As the helicopter took off, I watched the island shrink smaller and smaller until there was nothing left but a vibrant blue ocean. I found my thoughts wandering back to that of Piggy and Simon. I had always felt sick whenever I saw in my mind that rock smashing into Piggy's skull, but it was comforting to be able to remember that I had played no part in it. Simon, on the other hand...
Simon forgave me the instant I laid down the hokey cross, I knew, and I also knew that he didn't consider it to be hokey at all. He thought it was very noble of me to come back after so long to pay my respects properly (seeing as there was no body, and likewise no funeral for him) and to fully comprehend what had happened all those years ago, in the eyes of an adult this time. This came to heart after the weight of what happened had finally been lifted.
I had finally left the island.