I don't really know what to say about this one...

As time went on, Ralph noticed that less and less boys were returning to the camp at night to sleep. Without even looking for details, he knew it was because they wanted to join Jack's tribe of 'fun'. One morning, Ralph woke up and walked out of his hut to see Simon sitting in front of the smoldering fire, arms wrapped around his knees. He sat down beside him. "Hi," he murmured softly. Simon gave a weak smile. "Everything alright?" Ralph asked. Simon paused for a moment, then shrugged. "You can tell me," Ralph encouraged.

"…Y-You wouldn't understand…" Simon murmured, tears threatening to fall.

"Sure I would. Go on,"

"You wouldn't understand because you don't know him."

"…Jack?"

"Roger,"

"Oh,"

Wasn't Roger that dark-haired boy that didn't talk to anyone? Wasn't he the one that Jack loved so much and always had pasted to his side? Ralph tried to picture which one exactly Simon was talking about. "He needs me…" Simon whispered.

"Simon…I hate to tell you this, but there's no helping somebody like him. There's nothing you can do to stop somebody that insane."

"He's not insane! And he's never been like this before!" Simon covered his mouth when he realized he was shouting. He didn't want to shout at Ralph. He was just frustrated with the situation.

"Simon…I've watched him for a while. He's never the one that needs to be set in line like the other boys. When they all act up, I tell them to settle down and they stop. He's not like that. He's sneaky. Calculating. He does things that wouldn't typically be noticed so no one tells him to stop. A littlun told me he was throwing rocks at him from behind a tree a few days ago, and I heard some Henry kid that he did the same to him. But because he's not acting out, there's no stopping him."

"He…he doesn't know what he's doing…."

"That's the thing. He does know what he's doing. Simon…you've just got to accept the fact that he's gone out of his mind. He can't…he can't ever be the same. He was born like this."

"He wasn't though. He had a wonderful older brother, he did have a mum at one point. He was ok. But first…she died…and then things got worse and worse."

"But you don't know if—"

"I do know because we adopted him!"

Ralph was silent. That little monster shared a home with someone so good? And they allowed that? Simon was on the verge of tears. He scrubbed at his eyes, pretending that smoke had blown in them. Several minutes of silence went by. The smaller boy looked out towards the water and let out a big sigh. "What's he going to do when I'm gone?" Ralph looked over, clearly confused by this. "What do you mean by that?"

"I was praying in the jungle yesterday and…..never mind. I just want him to be safe."

"Everything's going to be ok when we go home."

"You'll get back alright."

"Hopefully we will. And rather sooner than later."

Piggy emerged out of the bushes, stumbling and heaving great breaths. "Can't hardly find no fruit out there anymore…all the littluns grabbed the low-hanging ones so now all the others is left way up high!" he grumbled, sitting beside them both. Ralph sighed. "We'll just have to climb up. Maybe grab some sticks for a fire on the way." he replied. But Piggy wasn't satisfied with that. "I'm staaaaaaarrrvviiiiiiiinnnggggg," he dramatized. Ralph thought for a moment. The longer he thought, the hungrier he realized he was. "I guess we could go to Jack's camp for some meat; he's always got a feast going. Maybe we can settle things as well. Simon? Are you coming?" The small boy shook his head absently. "I think I'm going to go to the mountain….see the beastie….I don't believe it's actually there, and maybe I can talk some reason into the others." Ralph nodded. At least all three of them had a common general goal, even though they all were going for different reasons; one was for food, another was for unity, the last was for a lost friend.

Over at Jack's camp, the boys were preparing for the feast with enthusiasm. Bill, however, was having more fun chasing Henry with a slab of raw meat. Every time he caught up to him, he'd dangle it in his face, which freaked the crybaby out to no end. Henry ran shrieking and screaming as if a murderer were behind him wielding a knife instead of a medium-height schoolmate holding a piece of pork. Bill backed Henry up against one of the stone 'pillars' of Castle Rock, dangling the meat ahead of him. "Stop it, Bill!" Henry wailed. "Get it awaaaaaaaayyyy!" But Bill was given a task by Harold, as in turn Henry was. Harold bet that Henry couldn't go a day without crying about something; and Henry had been doing a pretty good job. But it was almost sundown, and if Henry didn't cry by the feast, the Bill would've failed in his task and he'd have to be Henry's servant for a day. So he had to do everything in his power to prevent that from happening. Henry was so close to tears. But the chunk of meat wasn't doing enough to actually scare him past the boundary of fear; Bill would have to get closer. He cocked the oozing meat back in his hand…

And he slapped Henry across the face with it.

Henry stood, wide-eyed, unbelieving in what his choirmate had done to him. He'd slapped him with a piece of meat. A raw piece of meat. One that was sticky and slimy and raw and gross and raw…Henry fought it. He really did. He pretended he wasn't about to cry, he tried to hold it back…but suddenly the dam broke, bursting a large wail out of him along with a fountain of tears. Bill inwardly rejoiced. But on the outside, he was too busy laughing to show that he was the triumphant one. From a distance, Harold shook his head. Part of the reason he'd even create this dare was to see them try to outdo each other. In all actuality, he was the real winner.

Roger knelt in front of the freshly caught sow—the one they'd be having for the feast. Jack stood beside him. "I'll let you do the honors, my little puppy." he devilishly murmured. Normally Roger would've been just fine with that, but there was something about Jack's voice that haunted him. He didn't really like being called his 'puppy'—it made him sound like nothing more than an attack dog. Like an inferior. Like an animal. "Take your anger out on it." Jack hinted, his voice so soft yet so terrifying it was the only thing ringing in Roger's ears. "Do to it what everyone else did to you back at home." Roger stared at the dead pig in front of him, instantly receiving flashbacks of all the horrible low points in his life. He didn't reach for the knife Jack offered him. He grabbed his spear. With one motion, the dark boy impaled the pig from behind, staring intently as if he were waiting for this moment for a long time. Jack looked at the boy's work as well, realizing that maybe Roger had taken it a little too far. But he understood. He felt the knife being torn out of his hand, and in an instant, Roger was slicing and cutting and screaming at the pig, words that even Jack couldn't make out. It was a considerable amount of time before Roger finished. His arms were bathed in blood. His face had splotches of it making his paleness even whiter. His eyes were a dark, dark brown—almost black. And there were tears. Tear that were washing away this blood in small lines, trying to erase the impurities Roger so plainly had. But they couldn't ever. Nothing could. Jack dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Good boy," he murmured. "Look at the beauty of what you've done….You've provided us with food. You're better than everyone else. You're my second hand. Nobody else gets to hold that title but you. Understood? I want you to be mine and only mine…I want you to never look back." Jack hissed into his ear. Roger drew in a shaky breath. Leaving behind the past? Everything that had happened to him; every hit, kick, punch, beating, unspeakable act that ever forced itself upon him…just gone. A fresh start. Something new. Yes.

Maurice sat Robert down on a rock. "Welcome to my shop!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to give you a warpaint makeover!" Robert rolled his eyes. "I was just going to do it myself—"

"But I'm the best at this! I'll make it a really cool design, promise!"

"No. Now let me go."

"Wait! Sit back down!...There. Alright. Now close your eyes and let me work my magic."

Robert seriously regretted not just doing his warpaint himself. Having someone else do it meant that it was clearly open for interpretation, but having Maurice do it…it could end up being really bad. After several minutes went by, Robert cracked his eyes open. "Are you almost done yet? This rock's not comfortable on my bum." he complained. Maurice let out a shriek. "DON'T! You can't open your eyes yet! No peeking!" Robert grumbled an annoyed response, but only a few minutes passed before Maurice exclaimed, "Done!" Robert opened his eyes and gazed into the pool of water nearby. Maurice had painted a big smilely face on his chest, one that did not make him look threatening at all. "Maurice!" he shouted. "What did you do?!"

"I was thinking about painting a different face on everyone, so I started with you and gave you a smile. I think I'll wear an excited face. Henry's going to get a teary face. Bill's is going to be missing an eye!"

"This is ridiculous! I can't look like this! Wash it off!"

"No! It's my services, you came to me!"

"No I didn't! You dragged me off my seat to do this!"

"I—fine. Do whatever you want. But when everyone else has a face painted on them, you're going to regret not being Sir Smiles."

Simon peered over the top of the rocky mountainside. The 'beast' was so, so far from a scary monster. It was a fallen veteran. Someone who died in an attempt to free other oppressed people in the world. Simon knelt down before the body, noticing that it was only reduced to bones. He bowed his head. Very carefully, he unwound the strings of the parachute that were tangled around the man's limbs. "You're free from here," he whispered. "Lucky you." After making sure there were no more knots, Simon turned away and began to hurry down the mountain. He wanted to tell everyone that there was no more monster. There never had been one. It really was them.

The feast was going well—Jack felt merciful and let Piggy and Ralph, the visitors, eat the freshly cooked sow. Once everyone was finished eating for the most part, Maurice jumped up and told everyone to dance around the fire with him. Nobody did until Jack told them to. Even Piggy ad Ralph. Roger glanced around through the flashing flames. Why were those two losers here but Simon wasn't? Was he ok? The three of them stuck together all the time, never separating for too long. So where was Simon? Was he here and Roger just missed him? Was he alone? What if the beastie caught him? How could he tell anyone if he needed help? Why was Roger looking back at the past and even caring about where Simon was? Didn't Jack tell him not to?

Suddenly, Harold stopped the circulation of the dance by stopping dead in his tracks and staring off into the distance. "Look!" he cried out, making everyone silence the chant. "The beast!" Everybody followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, something was behind the bushes, rustling them and making a break for it the other way. "GET HIM!" Jack shouted. They all charged forward. Someone, presumably Robert as he was the fastest, grabbed the beast just before it got away. And then the fighting took place. Kicking, biting, screaming, hitting, punching, rolling, stabbing…Roger brought his spear down, knowing he caught skin because of the sickening shriek the creature emitted. Wait a second. He knew that voice. Roger listened closer.

"Please! Please stop! I-I'm not the beast! It's not me! It's not real! Please!"

The painful screams became more drawn out. Roger panicked. Was that….no, it couldn't be. But wait. He hadn't been here all night. He was probably joining now. He had come back for him… "Wait!" Roger shrieked, trying to grab the arms of the people around him. "Stop! Stop!" he cried out. His voice went unheard. As soon as the thing beneath them ended its cries, the boys took a step back. Silence fell. Endured. Pained them all. Instantly they started to slip away, not making a single sound. The thing they'd just killed was the farthest thing from the beast. They killed the only good thing they had left.

Roger stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the body that was almost unrecognizable due to all the scratches and cuts and bruises and that gash in the leg….he'd made that gash. Because he'd driven his spear through it. All those times that Simon would gently bandage his wounds at home even if it was just a papercut….and he'd gone and killed him. A cold wind chilled Roger so deep down that he wished it would freeze his heart. He wished on his way back to Castle Rock he'd slip on a rock and break his head open and die just as Simon did….please…anything but live with this….this guilt… Roger felt a hand set on his shoulder. "It was an accident…" Jack whispered. His voice was strained. Roger jerked his shoulder away. He didn't want to be Jack's favorite anymore. He wanted to be Simon's favorite. But he'd even ruined that before he'd killed him. Roger realized that he'd slowly been killing Simon ever since they'd arrived on that island; this was just the final blow that really did it. He didn't want Jack. He wanted his brother.

Roger didn't go to sleep with Jack at his side that night like he always did. He didn't even go to sleep. He sat at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the ocean. Staring down at the beach. At the body. This window gave him the perfect view out to look at what he'd done. He watched. Hours went by. Finally, Roger's heart gave a little leap…Simon was moving! He was stirring, he wasn't dead! The body started moving more and more, so Roger jumped up in his place to go run down and help Simon clean the wounds…

But he froze where he was, because he realized that indeed the body was moving, but not on its own. It was being swept out to sea by the waves. The water wrapped itself around Simon's tiny form, moving it farther and farther out, carrying it away. Roger felt tears jumped to his eyes. The hopelessness edged its way back inside of his heart. "You're free from here," he whispered as Simon's head bobbed under the water. "Lucky you…"