A/N: Lord of the Flies and all the boys belongs to William Golding. The OC is mine, however. Please enjoy_
'It is snowing', she realizes as soft cotton balls drift gently from the sky. They peck her red nose, her lips, blue from the cold, harsh, beautiful weather, and glide down her raven locks. A few fall upon her blotchy cheeks and cascade down the curve of her chin, down the hollow of her throat and loose themselves beneath the neckline of her black dress.
She wishes to taste them; feel them melt upon her tongue. Vaguely she wonders if they'll be salty; the sky's tears. She remembers how they'd tasted, then. When the sky had berated them, warned them, roared at them. When the earth had uprooted its own saplings to shake them out of their reverie. When the wind had howled and moaned and whipped at their faces. When water had pelted so heavily upon them, she'd felt as if bullets were piercing through her flesh. And when the lightening had dragged its fingernails across the obsidian heavens, it had only resulted in illuminating a solitary figure crawling out from the darkness.
"There was thunder, and lightening and there was the dance and we were all scared. And then, there was the beast…"
She remembers how fear had palpitated her heart and how exhilaration had flooded her veins. She remembers the night the sky had cried over the loss of humanity.
She remembers how its tears had tasted.
She wants to open her mouth and taste them on her tongue again; but, she doesn't. She doesn't trust herself to part her lips. There are screams lodged past them! There's a war going down there and terrors are clawing up her throat along with garbled apologies. They are armed with knives and spears sharpened at both ends and she cannot, must not, never, never, never let them out. She will cut out her tongue and sew her lips shut if it comes to it! Anything, anything to trap them inside.
"I am inside you~"
A whimper bubbles its way up and she clamps her lips tightly until her face is red from the exertion; until she feels herself choking on it; until she feels tears sting her eyes and cloud them. She hopes they block her airways, too. She hopes she can drown within herself. What a fitting end!
And, who knows, maybe she'll even find him there.
"May be there is no beast."
She remembers their last moments. She remembers his last breaths. He'd been a beast; a wiry figure creeping out of the foliage, running towards them, shouting nonsense.
He'd been the Beast and she'd been terrified. Even though "There is no beast", he had said. And she had trusted him.
"Only for a moment" later she'll try to justify a murder committed in cold blood. She'd given in for only a millisecond to the thrill, the chase, the fear, the savagery.
And she'd lost her faith.
Only a moment, and he had turned into the Beast.
So she'll take the blame; all of it. And Jack will be all too relieved to have the burden lifted from his bony shoulders, not completely gone but lessened considerably.
"It's not my fault! Not completely. You were there too, and Ralph and Piggy and Roger. Could've been anyone's spear that finished him off."
A flinch
"'Sides he was batty! W-we were in a frenzy. He shouldn't have come onto us like that; l-like a bloody monster. I did nothing! My hunters were scared…"
And Ralph will gaze at her with a pain filled expression, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He is.
His jade eyes plead with her to understand.
"Please, you must believe me. I tried so hard. I did! It was all Jack's fault! He led us all into the madness…Oh God! it was Simon. You know! You know I tried!"
She does.
But it doesn't make the hurt any less. It doesn't make the pain go away. Simon is still gone. He'll he gone, forever.
And Samneric will just stand huddled to the side, literally trying to merge into one. Their heads are bowed and they clutch at each other's hands like a life line. They weren't in the dance. They'd left early.
They all have their reasons, their justifications; their excuses. And she feels like she was the only one involved in the horrid act. Their eyes burn holes into her. "It's all your fault",they say.
Soundless accusations come from all directions.
"You commenced the hunt."
"You should have trusted him."
"…all you. It was all you."
"You should've been sensible."
And she suddenly finds her own voice mixed with the others resounding in her head.
"You dirty, filthy glutton – it was the meat, wasn't it?"
"…tore it off of his bones…"
"Chewed it up…"
Another voice joins in.
"Tasty wasn't it?"
"Had your fill didn't you?"
She feels sick to her stomach and it lurches, fully intended to throw up its fill. But there is nothing inside. So, she just bends double and dry heaves.
"Don't you see little girl?" the Lord of the Flies rasps. "You are the Beast."
"And you are the dirtiest thing there is."
So she scrubs at her arms and legs and face and neck, and her fingernails scratch and tear and claw leaving her body red and raw and bloody in their wake, and so so filthy.
She dry heaves again and chokes on her own sobs. She wishes she could die; but, she realizes it is a privilege she does not deserve.
She feels eyes on her shuddering, shivering, pathetic form. She is aware she is causing a scene. But she is beyond caring. She has long departed from her body and floated back to the Island.
She had never left.
She witnesses it all happening again; the fire, the frenzy, the dance. And this time the roles are reversed.
This time she doesn't back out; she is dancing with them.
She is dancing alone.
And then, the Beast is there, its thin frame shrouded in darkness, its claws extended, moving in for the kill. But, she beats it at it. With a mighty cry she lunges at it and thrusts her spear into its flesh. A shower of warmth erupts and drenches her.
It feels heavenly!
She wants to feel the warmth again, so she plunges the stick back in. Blood splatters her body and her face as the Beast's life flows away in rivulets to join the ocean.
The Beast is screaming and she is screaming; blood curdling shrieks ripping past their throats. It is saying something.
"no…"
"…parachute"
"Beast…"
"A man…"
"…please!"
One last stab.
And then she's the only one tearing her throat apart.
"Maybe it's just us."
There is a wooden casket laying a little way ahead of her. It is over flowing with carnations. They are a soft pink; I'll never forget you. Simon loved flowers. But Simon's not here.
She thinks maybe if she concentrates hard enough she will be able to convince herself that he is cocooned within the flowery bed. Lost in its depths, but there. But Simon's not there. Simon is some place far away, deep under the ocean bed, surrounded by mud and rocks and fish and probably no flowers for miles on end.
Her mind launches itself into a frenzy and she visualizes terror filled, sleepless nights spent sitting on the shore, waiting for the Beast from the water to emerge.
Begging, imploring
"Please, please"
Beseeching the watery mass
"Give him back."
She is clutching a silver badge in her hand. Clutching it so hard that its rusty corners are digging into her palm. It is all she has left of Simon.
It should be in that coffin amongst all those pretty pink carnations. She should give it to his mother. It has a little of his blood on it. She should hand it over. His mother would be grateful that she brought a piece of him back. But, no matter how much she tries, she cannot bring herself to do it. Her arm is heavy as lead. Her fingernails are embedded within her palm, locking it in place.
'They have all of him", a treacherous voice whispers. 'You can keep this much of him, at least.'
She knows she doesn't deserve to. But, she does.
She knows it is selfish of her.
But, she doesn't feel guilty at all.
She doesn't feel much of anything.
Her sleep with forever more be plagued by nightmares, long forgotten by the time morning arrives.
She will forget planning to convince the two stubborn chiefs to make truce.
She will forget Ralph ordering her to stay back, saying who knows what the savages will do to her (they all know, now) and how she had glared at him and trudged on towards Castle Rock.
She will forget the shivers that had slithered up her spine when her gaze had fallen upon Jack; painted and authoritative. She'll forget him offering her meat, her declining, turning her nose up and stomping her feet, walking away from the feast, as her companions devour the meat she'd refused.
"Bloody gluttons!"
She will forget Maurice convincing her to stay and paint her face because "It's fun" and her relenting and then finally agreeing because she's known him since kinder garden and because "what's the harm in relaxing and letting yourself go for a while?"
She will forget feeling hidden and invincible behind the mask that had covered her face. She'll forget how it had felt to lose herself in ecstasy.
She'll forget the hair-raising fear she had felt upon sighting the beast.
She will forget screaming and cowering from it and then, the hunters falling upon it.
She will forget hearing an ear splitting shriek that had chilled her blood in her veins when she had realized whom it belonged to.
She'll forget how fast she had run, tripping over jagged rocks that had split her soles open.
She'll forget how her world had crashed all around her when she saw the group of savages, huddled together, stabbing something with their spears.
She'll forget throwing herself at their backs, again and again and again, only to land on her back side each time.
She will forget kicking and screaming and scratching and clawing and biting and pushing and pulling and uttering that one word over and over and over.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Like a mantra.
Like a life line.
Stop! STOP! STOP!
PLEASE!... It's Simon…
But, she could never say that. That would make it all the more real.
She'll forget how she had held his broken and battered body to herself, hoping with all her might to provide some warmth to subdue the chilled arrival of death.
She will forget the inhumane howls that had erupted from her lungs when she had felt him shudder and then still against her bosom.
She will forget how her hold had loosened for a split of a second, when she'd gazed tearfully, helplessly at the group of scared boys, shifting uncomfortably behind her. How her eyes had met Ralph's terrified ones, Jack's that were still hazy with blood lust and Roger's, that were clear and focused and…smug. And then the ocean was snatching Simon away, cradling him in its waves, dragging him under.
Deeper
Deeper
Deeper
A broken whisper
"Stop…no please…give him back."
And then the Universe had wept along with her.
And she will wake up to her ears ringing with horrid, ghastly screams, unfathomable terror gripping her heart in a choke hold and something metallic on her tongue.
Yes, she will never forget how the sky's tears had tasted.
They had tasted of blood.
A/N: So, here it is. I'd been procrastinating this for the longest of times. Please review and tell me what you think of it. Have a nice day