Disclaimer: I don't own anything from LOTF—that all belongs to William
Golding.
Jenna Meritan stood up tall and proud upon the rock. She gazed out across the sea of faces—some painted like hers, some untouched—all sitting on the white sand of the beach below. Darkness was closing in, and the fire was beginning to die down. Jenna motioned at it, and immediately two painted bodies got up and threw more logs on. Sparks lit up the night air, casting eerie shadows on the bones of a dead pig.
Her mouth opened, then closed as she blanked on something to say. Thoughts of her previous life flashed by—a life of order, full of rules. It was a life she had gotten used to; she had been trained to like it. But now that had all changed. She was no longer a perfect schoolgirl, obeying everything told her, but a savage, living only to hunt and survive, to amuse herself, to give all the rules herself. She reflected upon this for a moment. Then she asked herself the questions that had been bothering her for the past few weeks.
Do I really want to be like this? Do I want to leave behind that which was mine and go on to that which could be mine—to live like my ancestors in the Ice Ages? Do I want to hunt and kill, or do I want to be civilized, rescued, to go back to school and obey everyone else's orders?
Jenna sighed inwardly. The questions were pointless, she knew. She couldn't turn back. It had all gone too far, and the ancient savagery that had lain dormant all these years, from the beginning of time, had already started its overpowering work within her. It was starting to devour the protective shell that generations had formed to keep this very event from happening. But now she had let it loose. She was becoming a savage.
Jenna began to chant. The words came naturally, as they would a wild beast. Her voice, harsh after so many days on the island, was snatched up by the wind and dragged through the crowd sitting at her feet. She chanted louder and louder, her words twining around her audience like snakes. Then, her solo abruptly over, other voices began to join hers.
She stepped down from the rock, words still spilling from her mouth to join the ever-growing pool of sound. She was filled with strength down to her very bones—she felt as if she could do anything. But her thoughts started to trail towards revenge. She was safe; she could attack anyone, and her hunters would be right behind her.
The hunters joined her, and the others who had picked up the chant. They formed a circle, unconsciously, too caught up in the chant to notice their actions. Someone dropped into the middle, and crawled around. The person acted the pig, with everyone crowded around, yelling now, and jabbing their sharpened sticks. Soon the pig-like snorts became cries of pain. The pig melted back into the ring of spears. The circle was empty. The fire crackled.
A movement in the underbrush startled the chanters. They all turned towards it, their words hesitating for a moment to return in full force. A horseshoe formed, the opening towards the creature in the woods.
The figure stumbled out, crying out as the circle closed in again. But the chant faltered again, and was broken. Someone yelled "The Beast!" and all was lost. Girls scattered, running in every which way, not looking back, but only forward, shrieking all the way. Soon only Jenna was left.
"Come back!" she screamed. "Come back, all of you! I can't defeat it alone! Help! Someone! Come back!" But no one answered. She looked again uncertainly at the creature, silhouetted against the darkening sky, its shrill cry floating towards her. It lifted its thin arms and began to drag itself toward her.
Jenna ran. She dashed along the beach for all she was worth. She didn't care where she was going. She didn't care if they called her coward. She didn't care if someone killed her then and there. All she wanted was to get as far away from the beast as possible. Her legs grew weary, but still she ran, the creature's keening cry echoing down the beach behind her...
Jenna woke up. She was streaming sweat. Glancing uneasily from left to right, she sighed in relief to see that no one was there. She was in her bedroom—not on an island, not on a beach, but in her own bed. There was no keening cry, only a dog barking down the street. The clock read two in the morning. Somewhat soothed, she drifted once more into the deep waves of slumber.
*****
The next day, Jenna arrived at school early. Walking through the huge double doors, she breathed in the fresh morning air. So different from the nighttime air, she mused. The sudden roar of noise muffled her footsteps—the buses had arrived. The bullies were always on the buses. She hurried on towards her locker.
As she prepared for her first class, she pondered the meaning of her dream. She had felt in charge, leading by force. Everyone had obeyed her, done what she had wanted. And she had delighted in the pain of others. Well, she thought, that isn't how I feel today.
As she turned to go, a hand collided with her back. "Whoops, clumsy me," sneered a girl's voice from behind her. Jenna stumbled, books flying out of her hands amid the giggles of the popular girls. Her English text hit her in the face. The title flashed before her eyes.
Lord of the Flies.
It hit her then. Jenna had been on the island. She had dreamt she was Jack—or a form of him. That was why she had felt so strangely in charge. That was why she had felt so powerfully cruel.
The powerful feeling the chant had given her returned. She calmly picked up her books, and walked towards the sniggering group of girls around the corner.
Their leader was basking in glory. Who cared about the bookworm? Her books were lying on the polished floor. One had even hit her in the face. The other girl hadn't even batted a make-up covered eye. That gave her points among her gang; that was more important than anyone's ego except her own.
Breezing through the crowd, Jenna walked right up to her, and smacked her in the face. She was living her dream. Her animal instincts were taking over. Revenge was all she could think about.
She was Jack Merridew.
Jenna Meritan stood up tall and proud upon the rock. She gazed out across the sea of faces—some painted like hers, some untouched—all sitting on the white sand of the beach below. Darkness was closing in, and the fire was beginning to die down. Jenna motioned at it, and immediately two painted bodies got up and threw more logs on. Sparks lit up the night air, casting eerie shadows on the bones of a dead pig.
Her mouth opened, then closed as she blanked on something to say. Thoughts of her previous life flashed by—a life of order, full of rules. It was a life she had gotten used to; she had been trained to like it. But now that had all changed. She was no longer a perfect schoolgirl, obeying everything told her, but a savage, living only to hunt and survive, to amuse herself, to give all the rules herself. She reflected upon this for a moment. Then she asked herself the questions that had been bothering her for the past few weeks.
Do I really want to be like this? Do I want to leave behind that which was mine and go on to that which could be mine—to live like my ancestors in the Ice Ages? Do I want to hunt and kill, or do I want to be civilized, rescued, to go back to school and obey everyone else's orders?
Jenna sighed inwardly. The questions were pointless, she knew. She couldn't turn back. It had all gone too far, and the ancient savagery that had lain dormant all these years, from the beginning of time, had already started its overpowering work within her. It was starting to devour the protective shell that generations had formed to keep this very event from happening. But now she had let it loose. She was becoming a savage.
Jenna began to chant. The words came naturally, as they would a wild beast. Her voice, harsh after so many days on the island, was snatched up by the wind and dragged through the crowd sitting at her feet. She chanted louder and louder, her words twining around her audience like snakes. Then, her solo abruptly over, other voices began to join hers.
She stepped down from the rock, words still spilling from her mouth to join the ever-growing pool of sound. She was filled with strength down to her very bones—she felt as if she could do anything. But her thoughts started to trail towards revenge. She was safe; she could attack anyone, and her hunters would be right behind her.
The hunters joined her, and the others who had picked up the chant. They formed a circle, unconsciously, too caught up in the chant to notice their actions. Someone dropped into the middle, and crawled around. The person acted the pig, with everyone crowded around, yelling now, and jabbing their sharpened sticks. Soon the pig-like snorts became cries of pain. The pig melted back into the ring of spears. The circle was empty. The fire crackled.
A movement in the underbrush startled the chanters. They all turned towards it, their words hesitating for a moment to return in full force. A horseshoe formed, the opening towards the creature in the woods.
The figure stumbled out, crying out as the circle closed in again. But the chant faltered again, and was broken. Someone yelled "The Beast!" and all was lost. Girls scattered, running in every which way, not looking back, but only forward, shrieking all the way. Soon only Jenna was left.
"Come back!" she screamed. "Come back, all of you! I can't defeat it alone! Help! Someone! Come back!" But no one answered. She looked again uncertainly at the creature, silhouetted against the darkening sky, its shrill cry floating towards her. It lifted its thin arms and began to drag itself toward her.
Jenna ran. She dashed along the beach for all she was worth. She didn't care where she was going. She didn't care if they called her coward. She didn't care if someone killed her then and there. All she wanted was to get as far away from the beast as possible. Her legs grew weary, but still she ran, the creature's keening cry echoing down the beach behind her...
Jenna woke up. She was streaming sweat. Glancing uneasily from left to right, she sighed in relief to see that no one was there. She was in her bedroom—not on an island, not on a beach, but in her own bed. There was no keening cry, only a dog barking down the street. The clock read two in the morning. Somewhat soothed, she drifted once more into the deep waves of slumber.
*****
The next day, Jenna arrived at school early. Walking through the huge double doors, she breathed in the fresh morning air. So different from the nighttime air, she mused. The sudden roar of noise muffled her footsteps—the buses had arrived. The bullies were always on the buses. She hurried on towards her locker.
As she prepared for her first class, she pondered the meaning of her dream. She had felt in charge, leading by force. Everyone had obeyed her, done what she had wanted. And she had delighted in the pain of others. Well, she thought, that isn't how I feel today.
As she turned to go, a hand collided with her back. "Whoops, clumsy me," sneered a girl's voice from behind her. Jenna stumbled, books flying out of her hands amid the giggles of the popular girls. Her English text hit her in the face. The title flashed before her eyes.
Lord of the Flies.
It hit her then. Jenna had been on the island. She had dreamt she was Jack—or a form of him. That was why she had felt so strangely in charge. That was why she had felt so powerfully cruel.
The powerful feeling the chant had given her returned. She calmly picked up her books, and walked towards the sniggering group of girls around the corner.
Their leader was basking in glory. Who cared about the bookworm? Her books were lying on the polished floor. One had even hit her in the face. The other girl hadn't even batted a make-up covered eye. That gave her points among her gang; that was more important than anyone's ego except her own.
Breezing through the crowd, Jenna walked right up to her, and smacked her in the face. She was living her dream. Her animal instincts were taking over. Revenge was all she could think about.
She was Jack Merridew.