I watched people enter the church, some sniffling, others holding a blank look. I didn't recognize any of them. I didn't know if I would.

Slowly, I looked around for a side door, or an unused entrance- anything to avoid seeing a minister. I had had my share of people telling me my life was a miracle. As much as I would like to think that there was a god somewhere that actually cared about all of those prayers of thanksgiving, I couldn't fool myself. I had already experienced hell. Believing in God was pointless.

Maybe that's why I felt so uncomfortable in that church. Or perhaps it was because everyone was so stiff and unnatural. Only a few of us knew what death was really like.

I slipped next to a petite lady with black hair streaked with stains of gray. Beside her sat her husband, an intellectual looking guy with gray hair combed neatly to the side for the nice occasion. Even they looked unnatural sitting there in those pews, but I suppose I did too. I guess I still wasn't immune to death.

"Hullo, Ralph," The lady greeted me with a soft, rolling British accent. Immediately, I relaxed.

"Hullo," I returned briefly. "Hullo, Sir," I added out of respect. I had every reason to respect them. Simon's parents were a big part of the reason I was functioning to this day.

"It's nice to see everyone, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. I didn't come to see people. In fact, I wasn't sure why I came.

"I'm glad you came, Ralph," she spoke, as though she was reading my mind. "We, Peter and I," she clarified patting her husband, "were beginning to get worried. You haven't written in a while."

I tried to smile. "You can't beat face to face communication."

"Yes, but after living with us for three years you just can't expect to not drop a note by every once in a while." Adele smiled. "You know how important correspondence is."

I sighed. "Yes." There was another silence. I didn't feel like starting a conversation. For some reason, the curtain shut in group situations.

"We've been getting letters from you Mum," Simon's mother continued. "She told us you dropped out of school."

I nodded. "People worry about stupid things. I couldn't handle it."

Simon's father spoke up. "They always will."

"You always have a place at our home," Adele smiled. "You're our son too, now, you know."

I winced. I didn't deserve to be put on the same field as Simon, even fifteen years later.

Thankfully, the minister interrupted my thoughts. "Today we are gathered to remember Percival ."

Memories flooded back and enveloped me. I was trained to deal with them now, but suddenly, I felt suffocated. Simon and Piggy had died, and what funeral had they received on the island?

I blinked away tears, blending in with the weeping people all around me.

I needed a cigarette.
* * *

I wanted to leave as soon as the funeral was over. For some reason, it was just better that I remembered Percival as a young, ignorant youngun on the island. Accepting reality, I had learned, just made some things worse.

But before I could jet away, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked at two identical faces.

"Hullo," I smiled softly. They had different haircuts, but nothing else seemed to have changed.

"Hello, Ralph."

"Hullo!"

"Haven't seen you since,"

"Well the last funeral."

"Maurice's."

I nodded. "No, I suppose not."

Another islander I recognized as a teenaged "youngun" strolled up. "Is this the reunion pew?"

I looked around tensely. I had never been able to relax in their presence, as if the borders of the other tribe still separated us.

"Let's go outside," Sam or Eric, I didn't know which one anymore, suggested. "I'm dying for a smoke."

I licked my lips, and for the first time that day, actually wanted to go with the flow.

* * *

"You know," the one I learned was Sam started, "they want to have a reunion."

"Like 15 Years Later," Eric continued.

"See what happens sort of deal-."

"And take us back to the island. They still finished each other's sentences.

Another littleun that now towered over me spoke. "As if the whole ordeal didn't get enough press attention."

"A man tried to get me to write a book." Someone else joined the conversation. "But I really don't remember a lot about it."

"Too long ago."

"A distant memory," somebody agreed.

I glared at them in their innocence. How could anybody have been unscarred by the situation? Free to dismiss it like they did?

"Why would anyone want to go back to the bloody island," I spat. I noticed the hand holding my cigarette was trembling.

"And what a happy lot we are to do a report on," Eric commented.

"With Jack in rehab," Sam began.

"For the second time-"

"And Robert in jail."

Everyone fell silent. Things on the island may be easy to dismiss, but the crimes committed in the real world would not be accounted for. Robert had raped a child, and would probably never see the island again. I didn't feel that sorry for him.

"It's a bad idea," I insisted. I didn't want to dwell on Robert, or Jack, or Maurice, or anyone else at this point.

Sam butted out his cigarette and tossed it aside. "You're probably right, Ralph."

"Always were."

I looked at the faces of all of the island boys, saw them gazing up at me in admiration, and felt anger and desperation rise within me. Now they listen. What would happen if Jack was here?

"I've go to go," I lied. In fact, I didn't know where to go, or what to do with anything.

"Bye, Ralph."

"Nice seeing you."

I turned my back on them and walked away, wanting to get away from the church, from the funeral, and from the bloody island.