Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies, or any of its characters.
AN: Well this is the third in my little series, written by my friend Alicio. Read and enjoy. By the way, I have also developed a great love of reviews, so please, any comments would be appreciated!
***********************
He had grown to ten times his normal size, and could easily pick his father up and throw him far, far away, where he could never hurt anyone ever again... suddenly he heard his mother's voice, high and terrified, screaming...
Simon jerked out of his sleep with a start. But his mother's screaming didn't end with the dream. Cautiously, quietly, he sidled around his bedroom door and down the stairs. His nose told him what had happened before he saw it. The sharp reek of lager and cigarettes meant his father was home. Another scream ripped the air, and he jumped, rattling the creaky floorboard. Suddenly the kitchen door was ripped open, and his father burst out. Simon cowered away, terrified of the roaring beast that grabbed him by the hair and threw him into the kitchen. His mother was leaning against the table gasping for air, her hair matted with blood. He ran to her side, but his father raised his hand and almost at once, everything went black.
For the second time that day, Simon awoke not quite knowing where he was. As he opened his eyes, he saw his father's face, eyes bloodshot, breath stinking of cheap alcohol. Simon flinched, and his father leaned closer. Simon could hardly breathe, partly from fright and partly from the huge hand that covered his mouth and nose. His father's voice hissed in his ear,
"Tell anyone what happened and I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
Simon couldn't move or think. His mind was dark with terror and loathing, and he did not know what to do.
"I asked you a question, Simon. Do you understand?"
This time he managed to incline his head a fraction and his father, satisfied, stepped back. Simon gulped in the sweet fresh air and closed his eyes.
***
As he lay there, trying to remember what had happened before, the nurse came in. He had met her before, she was young and pretty and friendly and had sat and stroked his hair when the nightmares came. He thought her name was Jill.
"Hello young Simon! Fancy seeing you here! Do you remember me? I'm Jane."
Jane, that was it. He didn't reply to her buzz of cheerful conversation, but lay there and let it wash over him, a comforting blanket of sound.
"Simon dear, are you alright? I asked you a question that I'm afraid you have to answer. How did you hit your head?"
"I - I - I fell and bashed my head."
Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed?
"Simon -"
"What?"
"Nothing, it doesn't matter. Would you like to see your mother now?"
He nodded. He wasn't sure if he did want to see his mother, but it was too late now. She burst into the room, her head bound up in a bandage with a black eye and a swollen nose. She looked wildly around and, seeing him, ran to him and clutched him to her. He smelt the rancid smell of vomit on her, and pulled back. She grabbed his head in both her hands and looked at him.
"What did you say to her?"
"Who?"
"That tarty nurse that was in here just now. What did you say happened?"
"I fell and hit my head. But Mum-"
"Thank God! Your father has been so worried. He does love you very much you know. He just gets very stressed - he doesn't know what he's doing sometimes!"
"But Mum -"
"But nothing!" She was beginning to get distressed and he didn't want to upset her. But he knew that something had to be said.
"Mum, he's - he's - Dad's - he's - " But he couldn't say it. Not to her.
***
"Home at last! Are you glad to be home, boy?"
"Yes Dad."
"Don't mumble, Simon."
"Sorry Dad."
Exasperated, his father pushed open the door and strode into the kitchen. He turned the radio on, and Simon was preparing to slink up the stairs without anyone noticing when an exclamation from his father made him turn round. His father reached over to the radio and turned the volume up, so Simon could hear it loud and clear,
"Britain is at war. Evacuations from central London will be made immediately. Child evacuees will be dealt with through schools. All men under the age of 35 who are healthy and fit must join up as soon as possible. Exceptions may be made for single parent fathers. Air raids are possible, and -"
With a violent movement, Simon's father turned the radio off. He turned to Simon, and the boy could see cold calculation in his piercing blue eyes. With two strides his father was by his side, grasping his shoulder.
"Listen boy -" Simon could hear something new in his voice. Was it - fear?
"I am going to be forced to join the army. Whilst you and your mother will be evacuated somewhere nice where you will be safe, I'll have to go and fight in a war. Do you understand what that means?" Simon nodded. "I knew you would. You're a good boy Simon, you know that? But to get out of this one, you will have to help me. Can you do that?"
Simon didn't move. The grip on his shoulder tightened until it became painful. He nodded, and the grip loosened.
"Good boy. We are going to have to pretend that you don't have a mother, and that I can't leave because I'm all you have. OK?"
"Yes Dad."
"Now, it's going to be hard to get rid of your mother. She's going to be unwilling to leave you, but I'm sure I can persuade her..."
***
As his mother came in through the door, Simon had a sudden sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it. He didn't know what it was, but something terrible was about to happen.
He heard his father call his mother into the kitchen. He heard her light footsteps going into the kitchen. He heard his father explain what he wanted her to do. He heard her vehement refusals. He heard raised voices and he heard a dull thud and a cry. He heard his father run from the house.
He staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was lying on the floor, blood pooling around her head. He knelt down beside her, and saw the rolling pin by her side, covered in blood. He turned away and was sick until his stomach was empty. Simon knew one of his times was coming on. His body was arched and stiff. Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was a blackness within, a blackness that spread. Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.
His father walked in through the door, two policemen behind him. He was explaining that he had walked in and found his wife lying on the floor, dead. He didn't know how it had happened. A botched burglary, perhaps? He was devastated. Really upset. The three of them walked in and found the two bodies. The small one stirred and moved its head. The big one didn't move. The small one sat up and looked at the father. The father ran to him and picked him up, the picture of a loving parent. The policemen turned away, and missed the father hissing urgently into the small one's ear, and the small one nodding slowly.
***
Simon and his father lined up outside the small office. They were going to explain that day, how his mother had been tragically killed and his father was his only remaining relative. He knew what he had to do. They talked to the kind lady, and she asked his father to remain outside while she talked to Simon alone. He knew that this was the one time that he could expose his father for the coward and bully that he was. He could do it now, and his father would have to go to war. He knew what was right.
Simon walked out of the office with lead in his feet. He looked at the man who had killed his mother, and looked away, loathing himself for what he had just done. The lady walked out, looking serious.
"Thank you, that will be all. Both you and Simon will be evacuated on the 3rd December, separate aeroplanes I'm afraid, he has to go with the other children."
They nodded.
"Goodbye Simon. I'll see you when we land. Well done, son."
Simon couldn't reply. He followed the other boys onto the plane.
AN: Well this is the third in my little series, written by my friend Alicio. Read and enjoy. By the way, I have also developed a great love of reviews, so please, any comments would be appreciated!
***********************
He had grown to ten times his normal size, and could easily pick his father up and throw him far, far away, where he could never hurt anyone ever again... suddenly he heard his mother's voice, high and terrified, screaming...
Simon jerked out of his sleep with a start. But his mother's screaming didn't end with the dream. Cautiously, quietly, he sidled around his bedroom door and down the stairs. His nose told him what had happened before he saw it. The sharp reek of lager and cigarettes meant his father was home. Another scream ripped the air, and he jumped, rattling the creaky floorboard. Suddenly the kitchen door was ripped open, and his father burst out. Simon cowered away, terrified of the roaring beast that grabbed him by the hair and threw him into the kitchen. His mother was leaning against the table gasping for air, her hair matted with blood. He ran to her side, but his father raised his hand and almost at once, everything went black.
For the second time that day, Simon awoke not quite knowing where he was. As he opened his eyes, he saw his father's face, eyes bloodshot, breath stinking of cheap alcohol. Simon flinched, and his father leaned closer. Simon could hardly breathe, partly from fright and partly from the huge hand that covered his mouth and nose. His father's voice hissed in his ear,
"Tell anyone what happened and I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
Simon couldn't move or think. His mind was dark with terror and loathing, and he did not know what to do.
"I asked you a question, Simon. Do you understand?"
This time he managed to incline his head a fraction and his father, satisfied, stepped back. Simon gulped in the sweet fresh air and closed his eyes.
***
As he lay there, trying to remember what had happened before, the nurse came in. He had met her before, she was young and pretty and friendly and had sat and stroked his hair when the nightmares came. He thought her name was Jill.
"Hello young Simon! Fancy seeing you here! Do you remember me? I'm Jane."
Jane, that was it. He didn't reply to her buzz of cheerful conversation, but lay there and let it wash over him, a comforting blanket of sound.
"Simon dear, are you alright? I asked you a question that I'm afraid you have to answer. How did you hit your head?"
"I - I - I fell and bashed my head."
Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed?
"Simon -"
"What?"
"Nothing, it doesn't matter. Would you like to see your mother now?"
He nodded. He wasn't sure if he did want to see his mother, but it was too late now. She burst into the room, her head bound up in a bandage with a black eye and a swollen nose. She looked wildly around and, seeing him, ran to him and clutched him to her. He smelt the rancid smell of vomit on her, and pulled back. She grabbed his head in both her hands and looked at him.
"What did you say to her?"
"Who?"
"That tarty nurse that was in here just now. What did you say happened?"
"I fell and hit my head. But Mum-"
"Thank God! Your father has been so worried. He does love you very much you know. He just gets very stressed - he doesn't know what he's doing sometimes!"
"But Mum -"
"But nothing!" She was beginning to get distressed and he didn't want to upset her. But he knew that something had to be said.
"Mum, he's - he's - Dad's - he's - " But he couldn't say it. Not to her.
***
"Home at last! Are you glad to be home, boy?"
"Yes Dad."
"Don't mumble, Simon."
"Sorry Dad."
Exasperated, his father pushed open the door and strode into the kitchen. He turned the radio on, and Simon was preparing to slink up the stairs without anyone noticing when an exclamation from his father made him turn round. His father reached over to the radio and turned the volume up, so Simon could hear it loud and clear,
"Britain is at war. Evacuations from central London will be made immediately. Child evacuees will be dealt with through schools. All men under the age of 35 who are healthy and fit must join up as soon as possible. Exceptions may be made for single parent fathers. Air raids are possible, and -"
With a violent movement, Simon's father turned the radio off. He turned to Simon, and the boy could see cold calculation in his piercing blue eyes. With two strides his father was by his side, grasping his shoulder.
"Listen boy -" Simon could hear something new in his voice. Was it - fear?
"I am going to be forced to join the army. Whilst you and your mother will be evacuated somewhere nice where you will be safe, I'll have to go and fight in a war. Do you understand what that means?" Simon nodded. "I knew you would. You're a good boy Simon, you know that? But to get out of this one, you will have to help me. Can you do that?"
Simon didn't move. The grip on his shoulder tightened until it became painful. He nodded, and the grip loosened.
"Good boy. We are going to have to pretend that you don't have a mother, and that I can't leave because I'm all you have. OK?"
"Yes Dad."
"Now, it's going to be hard to get rid of your mother. She's going to be unwilling to leave you, but I'm sure I can persuade her..."
***
As his mother came in through the door, Simon had a sudden sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it. He didn't know what it was, but something terrible was about to happen.
He heard his father call his mother into the kitchen. He heard her light footsteps going into the kitchen. He heard his father explain what he wanted her to do. He heard her vehement refusals. He heard raised voices and he heard a dull thud and a cry. He heard his father run from the house.
He staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was lying on the floor, blood pooling around her head. He knelt down beside her, and saw the rolling pin by her side, covered in blood. He turned away and was sick until his stomach was empty. Simon knew one of his times was coming on. His body was arched and stiff. Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was a blackness within, a blackness that spread. Simon was inside the mouth. He fell down and lost consciousness.
His father walked in through the door, two policemen behind him. He was explaining that he had walked in and found his wife lying on the floor, dead. He didn't know how it had happened. A botched burglary, perhaps? He was devastated. Really upset. The three of them walked in and found the two bodies. The small one stirred and moved its head. The big one didn't move. The small one sat up and looked at the father. The father ran to him and picked him up, the picture of a loving parent. The policemen turned away, and missed the father hissing urgently into the small one's ear, and the small one nodding slowly.
***
Simon and his father lined up outside the small office. They were going to explain that day, how his mother had been tragically killed and his father was his only remaining relative. He knew what he had to do. They talked to the kind lady, and she asked his father to remain outside while she talked to Simon alone. He knew that this was the one time that he could expose his father for the coward and bully that he was. He could do it now, and his father would have to go to war. He knew what was right.
Simon walked out of the office with lead in his feet. He looked at the man who had killed his mother, and looked away, loathing himself for what he had just done. The lady walked out, looking serious.
"Thank you, that will be all. Both you and Simon will be evacuated on the 3rd December, separate aeroplanes I'm afraid, he has to go with the other children."
They nodded.
"Goodbye Simon. I'll see you when we land. Well done, son."
Simon couldn't reply. He followed the other boys onto the plane.