Simon's View of the Hunt
Dear Diary

Today I was just sitting in my den among the creepers when it came.

I was thinking about getting of the island, escaping, going home and how unlikely it was that I will ever leave this hell. I won't, I know, I'm not strong enough. I'm not Ralph or Jack or Roger. I am me and I am lost, I will never go home.

Anyway, back to the chase. The chase, such a brutal thing. So ugly and horrifying beyond words. The way they did it. What they did. It's beyond words, beyond thoughts. But I'll try; for the sake of the others, I'll try.

It started with a crash. A loud, deafening crash that knocked over branches and made the ground shake. It was followed by the chant. That god forsaken chant; kill the pig, cut her throat, spill her blood! The chant that declares the being of the new hunt, the fresh kill, the death of a helpless animal.

"Now!" Came the cry from the distance. The cry belonged to the beast, Jack Merridew, the hunters leader; their chief. The sound of the war cry and the cries of the sow grew louder and louder; closer and closer until it was nearly upon me.

Just then, a small pink blur came running out of the trees. The poor victim of today's killing. She collapsed in a heap at my feat, too exhausted to run any further.

"In there!" I heard one boy shout. They were coming for her, for me. Instantly I rolled into the mass of creepers behind me. They hid me from the hunters, from the world. I was safe from their spears and cries, but she wasn't.

Not even seconds after I had disappeared, they came running. From every direction they pounced on her. This sudden force and explosion of movement startled her. She scrambled to her feet but it was too late. They wouldn't give up.

Roger jumped on the pile of boys and stabbed her repetitively with his wooden stick; fast and hard, not pausing for breath.

Jack appeared from the other side of the dense forest. He leapt for the sow with deadly accuracy. His silver pen knife digging deep into her soft flesh. Her blood splashed everywhere, painting the area death red.

I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from crying. I couldn't decide what was worse; the death of this helpless pig, the sight of her life pouring out of her in the form of liquid or the look on their faces. The look of pure enjoyment, total and complete happiness at the sight of death.

This scene made me realise they would never stop now. They had tasted the power of death and liked it. What would happen once the island run out of pigs? What would they hunt to satisfy their needs? The littluns? Piggy? Me?

This chilling image sent a shiver down my whole body. I felt numb from cold even though it was so hot you could see the air. I had to tell Ralph. He was the only one who had any chance of stopping them.

Silently I crawly backwards; never taking my eyes of the murder that was still taking place even though she was long dead.