Disclaimer,I don't own anything to do with Lord of the Flies, or anything else mentioned in this fic, other than my own plot. Don't sue me, because I have no money.
A/N- Just reposting to correct a couple of typo's I noticed.
Opening Old Wounds
Ralph glanced down at his cinema ticket- screen two, row D, seat number 21. He waited for the doors to open, to let the people waiting to see the film flock in, filling up the many seats. Everyone around him was talking to each other, eager to see the film, which had only been out for a couple of weeks. Already tipped to win several Oscars, it had received rave reviews from each of the national newspapers. 'The film,' said The Daily Mail, 'was an excellent and sensitive piece of filmmaking, even if it did tend to shock a bit, based on the true story of the events on an island twenty years ago, during World War Three.'
The attempts of a group of boys to build their own civilisation after being deserted on an island for six months-the story had been headline news at the time. How they had regressed to a savage like state, how they had rebelled against any form of leadership, how they had killed two boys their own age, how they had caused the accidental death of a boy who was barely six.
The film wouldn't admit anyone under fifteen; it was meant to be too disturbing for the young. This, in Ralph's eyes, was the greatest piece of irony. Not one of the boys on the Island had even been thirteen; no one had stopped those events because they were too young.
Ralph shuddered involuntarily; thinking of those events brought back too many memories, virtually all of them horrible. He reprimanded himself mentally, he was going to see this film, he hoped it would provide some closure. Either that or it would push him completely over the edge. Ralph was personally hoping that it wouldn't be the latter.
The doors swung open and everyone surged forwards. It reminded Ralph of the hunters. Of that night when, in a frenzied mass, they had thrown themselves at Simon and- and... He shook himself-if he kept thinking like that he'd never even get into the cinema, let alone see the film.
He was shoved roughly out of the way by a couple of Punk youths. He grimaced when he saw their appearance. How could they be happy looking like that? Their hair, which was long, was spiked up into a bright pink Mohican. Their clothes were ripped and dirty. Ralph fingered the lapel of his neat, clean jacket and ran his hand self consciously through his short fair hair. He hated looking untidy.
A few more people went in more casually in front of him, one wearing a baseball cap, and a woman wearing quite a bit of make-up. Did she think that if she hid behind a mask of foundation, eyeshadow and lipstick she was a different person? Could make up really make a person act differently?
He edged through the dark mass of chairs, people talked amongst themselves, not a care in the world. Hardly giving a thought to the fact that this story was true. They just wanted to see the film. To be able to discuss it over the water cooler at work the following morning.
The adverts swiftly appeared, Ralph was told that if he didn't buy the latest flavour of fizzy drink he'd become a boring person, he laughed, an unusual sound for Ralph to make these days, he didn't need a drink to do that for him. He always lived by the rules these days; he'd never even been given a speeding ticket. His theory was that rules were there for a reason, they should be kept, no excuses.
He allowed himself to wallow in his memories; he'd not really kept in contact with any of the other boys. The last time he'd seen most of them had been as he stepped off the ship into the harbour, and walked straight into his father's arms, not looking back at any of them. He'd seen Maurice on the train ten years ago. He'd been twenty two; he'd recognised Maurice, he'd barely changed since the Island. Of course he'd looked older, cleaner and tidier than before. Maurice had this almost deadened expression in his eyes; a look Ralph knew had been present in his own blue eyes for years. He hadn't spoken to him, Maurice hadn't recognised him, he wouldn't, and he'd only been a child- they'd all only been children.
Ralph hadn't even left the country since he had returned twenty something years ago. Too scared to fly in case the plane crashed, too scared to go anywhere by boat. He'd lived within the confines of the British Isles for all these years. He would only left his home county of Devon when he had no other choice. He felt safer there; he could hide from the beast, and the ghosts of his childhood.
The adverts had now changed to trailers of forthcoming films, he focused his attention at the screen, some new film was being advertised, something about battles in space-Star Wars-the title came up. Ralph raised his eyebrows, he couldn't see a film like that becoming popular. This film on the other hand... people liked films where people died-the British had become very blood thirsty since the end of the War. Very willing to see other people's faults, but not so willing to see their own.
No one would know who the real boys in the film were; they'd never had their names released. 'To protect the poor children who'd suffered so much.' The film script had been put together using the evidence that each boy had given on the ship.
The littluns hadn't understood what had happened, they'd wanted to go back to the Island, back to the hot beach. They hadn't understood why they'd left the Island; they had just thought that the entire time there had been a game. They hadn't liked the sensation of being at sea, their constant diarrhoea being replaced by seasickness.
The trailers finished and the music that signalled the start of the film came up. The title-The Island-flashed up against the backdrop of what looked like a tropical storm. A cylinder appeared behind the title and looked as though it was plummeting, down and down. Then as the title disappeared, the cylinder hit a dark mass that Ralph assumed was the Island, and then it vanished.
The picture on the screen changed. It was daylight. Ralph started- they'd used the same island, the same beach that they'd all played on, eaten on. The same beach that the hunters had... He couldn't keep thinking like this…
Ralph looked at the Island for the first time in twenty years- it hadn't changed-the jungle was as dark and forbidding as ever, the beach looked as perfect as it always had done. The palm trees still lined the back of the beach, throwing long, dark shadows over the white sand. The lagoon still shimmered in shades of blue, shadowy greens and purple. The scar was still as clear as before. The Island was identical, except it looked somehow younger than it had done. The Island had been ravaged by the fire, the old had been replaced by fresh plant growth.
He could hear people whispering around him, it's so beautiful. It's amazing... it's perfect...I wish I could be there...do you think there's a hotel… He wanted to scream at them- it's not perfect-you don't want to go there-it's evil- the Island is evil.
But he didn't.
He could almost feel the sand between his toes, the warmth, the smell of the Island-the Island seemed to be part of him. He couldn't escape it.
A boy walked out onto the beach, he was wearing school uniform. Was the boy meant to be him-he looked so young-surely he hadn't looked like that?
The film progressed; a fat boy with glasses came up to him and introduced himself as Porky. That wasn't right, Ralph thought frowning a little, Piggy had never liked being known by his nickname. Ralph had already guessed that all of their names would be changed to protect their identities. So the press couldn't hound them out, interrogate them over every aspect of the Island. None of the boys had ever gone public, which still surprised Ralph. He would have thought that at least one boy would have been so desperate to grab fame that they would sell their story to the press, but none had.
Ralph had only found out Piggy's real name after they'd left the island, George Golding. They'd all been so cruel to Piggy; he'd had to put up with their continual teasing and Jacks never-ending bullying.
He'd thought of Piggy more than anyone else since leaving the island. Wishing both he and Simon could have survived. Neither of them had deserved to die. Simon wouldn't have harmed a fly, yet children had killed him. Ralph had often caught himself wishing that they would come back, get rid of some of the guilt he had felt since they had left. But the dead are selfish and reluctant travellers. They do not return, no matter how much they are missed, no matter how great the need for them, no matter how much grief and guilt they leave behind.
He tore himself away from his thoughts and tried in vain to concentrate on the film. The actor playing a young version of him had found a large white shell-the conch. Ralph had always used this to call meetings, until it had been smashed on the rocks along with Piggy.
The group came together at the sound of the conch being blown; one long resonating note filled the cinema before fading back into nothing. There seemed to be more boys than there had ever been at one of Ralph's meetings. The normal crowd of littluns all grouped together, a few older boys mixed among the mass of boys. Some in uniform, some not.
Ralph found himself immersed in the film. In finding what had really happened, and what Hollywood had changed to make the film more exciting, more likely to attract audiences attention. They didn't care how the children involved would feel. They hadn't even tried to track any of them down-they'd written a script based on what a group of near hysterical children had told the sailors on a ship. From what Ralph could tell they seemed to be telling the story from his perspective. He supposed that was so they got more of a victims approach. Easier for the audience to sympathise with the film. The crew of the ship had believed that what Ralph said was what happened-he had been leader after all-he could be trusted.
The film had just confirmed his leadership-one boy in particular didn't seem happy about that. He never had been, he'd always wanted to be leader. Jack had always thought that he would have been the better leader-he'd never been content with just being leader of the hunters. Sometimes Ralph found himself thinking that he should have let Jack be leader, he had much superior leadership skills than Ralph could have ever hoped for. Then he corrected himself-if Jack had been leader the only emphasis would have been on hunting, there would have been no shelter, no attempt to be rescued. They'd probably still be on the Island-no wait- it had been Jack's fault they had been rescued. Jack had been the one who set fire to the Island while looking for him-looking for him so that he could... Ralph shuddered again. No, he couldn't keep thinking like that.
Ralph knew from his father that both Roger and Jack had been sent to disciplinary boarding school. The Police hadn't been able to arrest them for their crimes-they'd both been too young.
The pictures on the screen showed a group of boys pushing through a dark, dense jungle. Ralph could remember that event. The last time that he had been truly happy on the Island, before the Beast had taken over every boy. Simon, Jack and himself, exploring that unknown place-the sort of adventure that every boy always dreamed of. The sort of adventure that Ralph now associated with nightmares.
The Ralph on the screen seemed to have the same passion for the fire that Ralph remembered. If it hadn't been for Jack catching that first pig, for Jacks first 'murder', they'd have left that Island before Simon and Piggy had left without the others. The ship would have seen the fire that Jack let go out. The picture on the screen corresponded with the pictures in Ralph's mind.
The fire...
The ship...
Ralph was beginning to regret coming to see this film. He was opening too many old wounds. It was unlocking the doors in his brain that he had hidden all his memories behind. The film wasn't helping him finally leave the Island-instead it had given him a first class ticket right back there. He felt like he was back pushing through the vines, building the shacks, trying to keep the fire alight, desperately trying to keep his leadership clear. Trying to keep himself alive.
He wanted to leave- he went to stand up, but his legs wouldn't co-operate. He was stuck-in a dark cinema-surrounded by total strangers-watching a film about his life. He ran his hand through his prematurely greying hair. Why had he come here? Why was he putting himself through this?
The film seemed to be going on for hours. He glanced at the watch on his wrist-had it only been an hour? Had he only been sitting in this seat an hour?
An air battle seemed to be going on over the Island- Ralph was confused, he didn't remember this. Then it clicked- it had been the final air battle of the war. He'd heard that it had taken place over the Island. That was where the beast had come from. The crew of the ship had told them a parachutist had fallen. The beast had been the very thing they had craved- an adult figure. The war had finished just before they had been found-days after the final air battle. England still bore scars of its turbulent war years, but in general the country had been restored to how it had looked before any of the Great Wars destroyed its cities. England had been lucky compared to some other countries. France was now virtually uninhabited, the country had been gutted by the war.
Two identical twins who were meant to be Samneric, watched as a mysterious shape hid in the rocks. The beast-except there never had been a beast. Only Simon had seen that, Simon had seen a lot of things that none of the others had seen, he understood that now. The shape moved and the audience all screamed in perfect unison. He could make out the shapes of the entire audience looking away from the vision on screen. All except him- Ralph stared determinedly at the figure- and looked the 'beast' in the eyes for the first time.
The Jack in the film was just as vicious as the real Jack had been. Slashing with his knife at various trees... picking on Piggy... The film was making it out that there was only Jack who was evil- only Jack who wanted to hurt people. Roger had been missed out completely.
Ralph wasn't surprised-he knew what had happened to Roger after he left the disciplinary school. Roger had taken a gun, climbed to the top of the remains of a multi-storey car park and gunned down an entire street full of people. He'd been arrested, and when questioned about why he did it he'd just told them, perfectly calmly, that he'd seen the beast and it had to be killed. They'd taken him to a secure mental institute, where he later took his own life. The Island took his life-Roger would never have gone mad if it hadn't been for the Island. The Nurses said he'd been having nightmares and crying out in the night. Something about pigs and conches. None of the Nurses had understood, but Ralph had when he'd read it in a newspaper. He'd understood it perfectly.
The film moved on still-the boys wanted blood. Jack was hidden behind his mask of colour. Jack changed when he had that mask on; he seemed to think he became a warrior. He became capable of killing another human being. Not that it had ever been Jack who had killed-he'd just been the ringleader. Although Jack would have killed the boy in charge if rescue hadn't come when it did.
The next scene flashed across Ralph's eyes before it did the screen. The boys in a circle chanting the same thing over and over again.
Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!
Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!
Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!
A single solitary figure crawled out of the dense mass of trees. Ralph squeezed his eyes shut-he knew what was coming. He didn't need to watch them beat Simon over and over again until he died. Simon had never deserved to die that way. He could remember the sounds of the chant, of the total thrill and excitement of the dance-of the...
He tried to bring his brain back to the present day- why had he allowed himself to get so caught up in it? He could have left? He could have left and then the guilt he felt would be nothing compared to the guilt that he felt now.
He didn't open his eyes until he heard the boys having a nearly civilised conversation. He prised his eyelids apart, and focused his attention back on the film.
The fat boy meant to be Piggy grasped a conch in his hands. The conch. The symbol of power on the Island-or rather it had been, until Jack took control of the Island. Piggy had gone to appeal to Jack's better nature, to ask for his glasses back so that he could see. Instead Jack had started a rock rolling down the hill. For the second time in the film Ralph closed his eyes. He tried with all his might not to think about it.
He couldn't concentrate on the film. It was as though a floodgate had been opened in his head. Hundreds of memories came flooding into his head. Memories that had been locked away for years surfaced.
The savages were searching for him...
Samneric had left him...
He was totally on his own...
The fire was out...
They wanted him dead...
Simon was dead...
Piggy was dead...
Ralph slowly raised himself out of the cinema seat.
His head was reeling...
Nausea swept over him...
He had to get out of the cinema.
He was suffocating in a heat he hadn't noticed before.
He couldn't think straight.
He walked out of the cinema as quickly as he could without collapsing. Ignoring the complaints as he blocked the screen and tripped over people's bags. He pushed the heavy wooden doors open and walked back out into the relative cool of the foyer. He could feel himself shaking. He sat roughly down on a bench, gulping in air as he did so.
He'd failed-he thought as he struggled to gain his composure- he hadn't managed to watch the entire film. His breathing was still erratic. He put his head in his hands. Everything he'd tried to forget over the past twenty or so years had come back to him. Every ounce of guilt he'd ever felt had returned. He felt physically sick.
His attention was caught by the cinema door swinging open and someone else leaving. The person was wearing a baseball cap, and their face was in shadow. He looked away again; he had more to think about than one single person.
"Film got to you to?" the man asked, walking over to stand by Ralph. Ralph glanced up, there was something about the voice that he recognised, but he shrugged it off. He couldn't pull away from the swirling mass of thoughts that filled his brain.
The man sat down next to him, Ralph didn't give him a second glance. The man may have found the film disturbing, but he'd never been there?
"Film was a bit heavy going, don't you think?" Ralph couldn't find his voice, so he nodded dumbly. Couldn't this man see he wanted to be alone? He'd just relieved the worst days of his life- he had better things to do than talk to a complete stranger.
"Never thought they'd make a film over those events," the man said again, trying to strike up a conversation. It was becoming increasingly obvious that this man wasn't going to be going any time soon, and that he had something that he had to talk about. Ralph had enough of his troubles to think about, he didn't need any more.
"Well Hollywood will make a film about anything these days," Ralph replied, finding his voice at last, "as long as it brings them in money."
"Well I don't think it was in very good taste. Not one thought of how those boys would feel about their lives being paraded in front of the entire world. I'm sure it affected them enough at the time without having to relieve it now." There was something about the tone of the man's voice which confused Ralph. It sounded bitter, and almost as though he understood howRalph was feeling.
"All you know about those events is what was written in the newspapers at the time."
"I was only a boy when it actually happened," the man answered-he was staring at the floor, as though the grubby carpet could tell him what he should say next. "I didn't understand what had happened. I didn't know what was going on, what I had..."
Ralph interrupted him, "how could you know what had really happened unless you were really there?" There was no answer.
The doors swung open, the film had finished. Hoards of people streamed out of the cinema. Talking to each other...discussing the film... talking about him, or rather his character...talking about what they would have for dinner... Totally unaware of how anyone else felt.
The man didn't get up and leave, like Ralph had expected him to. He sat, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Ralph jumped when the man addressed him again.
"Have you ever, erm... done something you regret? Ever done something that you wish you hadn't?" Ralph had no idea why this man seemed to be about to about to open his heart to him.
A torrent of images rushed past Ralph's eyes. A beaten and bleeding Simon on his knees in the middle of a crowd. Simon defenceless against the onslaught of bloodthirsty boys, to hyped up to stop what they were doing. School boys killing innocence, Simon hadn't deserved to die that way, he hadn't deserved to die at all.
"I suppose," he answered, his voice sounding far calmer than he felt. "Everyone has done something they regret."
"No one could regret what they've done more than I do." Ralph waited for the man to continue, it was obvious he was going to hear his life story.
"It can't be as bad as you think," Ralph paused; he didn't think anyone's problems could come close to his.
"Oh, it is," he hesitated, "It all happened when I was young; I thought I was so grown up. I thought that I could replace an adult. But I couldn't..." He stopped again; this was obviously a great effort for him to tell anyone this. "I was the reason that people died."
Ralph looked up, shocked. The stranger saw his face, and corrected himself.
"Oh, I never killed anyone, well not on my own anyway, don't worry about that. But if it hadn't been for me they wouldn't have died. They were only my age."
Ralph was confused-why was this man pouring out all of his secrets to him.
"Look why don't you talk to someone you know over this? You don't know me."
"My friends wouldn't understand, my family disowned me years ago. I just seem to be able to talk to you; you seem like the sort of person who'd understand."
Ralph smiled; he knew that there was no emotion in his smile-except for sadness, and loss and maybe guilt.
"I'm no Saint either," he told him, "I've done and seen things that would turn your hair white."
"Have you ever been responsible for someone's death, have you ever planned to kill someone, just because they disagreed with you? Have you ever been willing to carry out that plan until someone stops you?"
"I did kill someone. Not alone, it wasn't one of those pre-meditated murders. It just happened." Ralph was shocked at what he had just said. He had never admitted to anyone that he had been involved with Simon's death, not even to his own father, he'd told him he'd been nowhere near at the time. Anyway, how could anyone who hadn't been on the Island understand how a murder had just happened?
The stranger didn't say anything, they just sat. The man pulled a lighter out of his pocket and tried to light a cigarette, it took him several attempts to light it as the hand holding the lighter was shaking slightly. Ralph didn't say anything, even though the cinema was non-smoking, his morals regarding rules seemed to have slipped in the past few hours.
The next mass of people appeared to watch the next viewing of the film.
"Do you regret what you did?" The man asked, fiddling with his watch strap.
"Everyday." Ralph replied with no hesitation.
"I wish that certain things had never happened. I wonder how differently things might have turned out if I hadn't been there," Ralph didn't ask where there was, "there are some people that I would give anything to apologize to, but most of them are dead."
"Same here," Ralph replied softly, "sometimes all I want to do is say sorry, tell the people I hurt that I'm sorry, that I wish I could change it."
"They wouldn't have forgiven me anyway," the man answered, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion, "they wouldn't have forgiven me at all."
"Why?" Ralph questioned, he didn't want to pry but something about this man begged him to ask questions. To find out what really went on in the mans head.
"I had no motive, I wanted power and I wanted it fast. I didn't care about who I hurt on the way."
Ralph glanced at his own watch, it was late, he'd miss the last bus if he didn't leave now.
"I'm sorry I've got to go," the man nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thank you for listening to me, somehow I feel better, as though the final chapter in a story has just been finished."
Ralph just smiled, in his normal emotionless way. Somehow he felt the same, maybe the film had provided him with closure. He turned and walked towards the exit, something occurred to him, he'd just told a stranger more about him that he'd ever told anyone and he knew nothing about him.
"Excuse me, but what is your name?" He asked turning back towards the man, who had taken off his baseball cap and was running pale hands though vivid red hair.
"Jack, Jack Merridew."
Fin