Oh, before I go on, Lord of the Flies and it's corresponding characters do not belong to me. All rights go to William Goulding, the author of this book. Now that that has been cleared up, welcome to chapter 2. I'm actually quite happy with the fact I got another chapter up without suffering writer's block. I've never written anyone with a personality quite like Jack's though, so I'm sorry if he is kind of...well...off I guess? Well...I suppose all of them are going to be kind of off since they're all new territory to me.


Arrows: Chapter 2

Predator

A solitary bird perches on a tree branch, ruffling its glossy feathers and trilling a high pitched note into the sleepy green silence. Something under the tree starts and hisses its displeasure at the unexpected sound; a painted body unfolds with feline grace and icy eyes flicker up at the leaves searching the trees for the offender. The bird, sensing the sudden killer aura escapes to the air, crying an alarm to the rest of the jungle underneath. The predator bares his teeth in frustration; he'll have to wait until the startled prey settles down again now. The undergrowth rustles next to him and another painted figure materializes out of the scenery, "Chief?" The hunter shakes his head and the surroundings are suddenly alive with movement; more figures step into the open, breaking the hunting formation. They all look expectantly at the red haired teenager standing in the middle. The teen rakes back his hair with one savage motion, pushing the curling strands out of his face.

"Pervicial, follow the trail." Said boy looks up with a frightened start and is about to protest when he catches the merciless amusement in the other's eyes, "Or would you rather spend time with Roger?" The black haired statue standing next to him smirks and steps towards the younger boy. Pervicial falls over himself saluting to his leader and backing away, the sounds of his panicked retreat growing fainter as he puts more distance between them. They all watch him go before turning back to the red head; he waves his hand careless, dismissing the remaining hunters. Roger lingers for a few moments before being waved away as well, years of hunting reducing his footsteps to mere whispers in the undergrowth.

Jack tilts his head back, stretching the muscles stiff from holding one position for so long and enjoying the silence away from the constant movement of the tribe. Castle Rock is almost too small for the tribe now; they'd all shot up at least a foot since Jack had first found the structure on the island. It has, after all, been close to three years since they first landed on the island. The littleuns were beginning to become boys and the surviving biguns were either reaching or well into their teenage years. Jack's severe boyish angles had begun to melt into the slender shape typical of a youth; his arms and legs had finally caught up with his hands and feet and his millions of freckles had simply melted away. Apart from his flaming hair, piercing eyes, and the few freckles that still sprinkled his nose, the tall figure held no resemblance to the boy that had landed on the island. Jack noticed these changes with some degree of annoyance, it was more difficult to stay unseen as a result of his ever lengthening body and he was constantly smacking his head on low hanging branches that hadn't bothered him before. The only positives that came out of the growth spurt were the increases in speed and strength. Jack could now run down an injured pig and wrestle it down before slitting its throat. A smile twists itself onto his face, the adrenaline of the hunt never got old no matter how many times he'd ran the prey down and spilled its warm blood on his hands. A long finger traces the circular shape smeared on his left cheekbone; red, the color of life and death. Beautiful.

The sharp call of another bird brings him back to the present. Jack shifts irritably, his flaming tresses trailing into his animated icy blue eyes and obscuring his vision again. Something wasn't right. The newly honed sixth sense that the savage lifestyle had brought back to life sparked within him and put the teen on edge. He knew there was something watching his tribe, felt the subtle shifts of his hunters whenever the presence appeared and disappeared. Jack had noticed the uneasiness of the pigs on the island as well. They were more on guard, more violent, more prone to scatter and stampede for no particular reason; the injuries within the tribe from hunting had gone up considerably during the last couple of months. It wasn't normal. There were subtle signs of something different on the island that Jack couldn't put together and it irked him. On top of that, Jack had a feeling that Ralph wasn't dead, or at least his spirit still lingered in the world. The blonde haired boy's existence had been inexplicably tied to Jack's own and as a result, as long as his soul stayed on the Earth, Jack could find no respite from the memories of the proud eyes and commanding figure. Nor forget the elegant cheekbones and corn silk hair.

Jack growled, ripping at a discarded spear with his knife, gouging deep gashes into the wood. Ralph confused him to no end. Jack never understood the other boy's duty bound sense to stay sane even as civilisation crumbled around him and the shadows and masks beckoned seductively. He knew Ralph had wanted to fall into darkness as well; there was no mistaking the eagerness to destroy and satisfy in the blonde's eyes during the bonfire. But instead of doing so and embracing the darkness like Jack had done, Ralph had turned and ran. The story would have ended there if it weren't for the tie between the two of them; as long as Ralph resisted the screams of the beast, Jack couldn't silence the whispers of civilisation. For that reason alone, Jack had decided to drag Ralph down forcibly; even if that meant running the golden sand red with the blonde boy's blood and staining his hands with the crimson life of the former chief. Then just as the problem was about to be resolved, Ralph had disappeared, leaving Jack with nothing but the nagging feeling of their unsevered bond. Just thinking about it worsens Jack's already dark mood and he stabs his knife deep into the tree, growling under his breath.

The violent movement dislodges something from the branches. Jack leaps back, his previously relaxed spear arm reflexively shooting up to his shoulder before he registers what the object really is. It's an arrow, its head gleams softly in the little sunlight let through by the leaves overhead. Out of curiosity, Jack bends down to inspect it. The weapon is carefully made, sharp and heavy enough to kill but short enough to be carried around with relative ease. His blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. Jack knows none of his tribe carries the necessary accompaniment to the arrow and before now, he hasn't seen any sign of a weapon other than the spear being created on the island. This is an abnormality and it sets his blood tingling in anticipation. The teasing picture fragments that have been driving him insane begin to fall into place. There are only two possibilities that could have birthed the arrow; either someone in his tribe created it or an outsider made it. No one in his tribe ever demonstrated any interest or skill in archery. That left the only other conclusion; it was made by someone not of his tribe. And there was only one possible outsider Jack knew of. The greatest puzzle of his life and his designated prey. Ralph. His instincts were correct; the other male was still alive somewhere on the island. Jack spins the arrow around his fingers and feels the sharp edge of the head, "You're mine, Ralph. Always have been, always will be."


Erm...I'm sorry if I butchered writing Jack. And I have no idea how the two boys should meet. Well, that's a lie, I have a very foggy idea of how they'll meet, but after that, it's all blank. They'll probably see each other again in either the next chapter, or chapter four if, well, I get that far. Writer's block usually kills me around then.

Reviews will be appreciated!