A/N: I wrote this for an English assignment yesterday and decided to post it to see if you enjoyed it. This is my first, and probably only, LOTF fic. They seem to get cliché after a while...there's only so much you can do with symbolism. These are a few vignettes that take place after the book ends. Another thing, I nearly pissed in my pants when I saw another fan-fic titled "Pie Jesu". I, in no way, intended to plagiarize the author. This is an extreme coincidence, as I have never read any LOTF fan-fics before. Please treat it as such. R&R is appreciated.

The Lord's Epiphanies, as Related by the Flies

Ralph's eyes darted back and forth, the white walls seeming to reflect his stare from one to another in perpetual agony. The whiteness was exaggerated everywhere; on the walls, on the floor, the ceiling, the starched bed sheets, and in his terror filled eyes. The whiteness reigned. There was no smoke. No smoke and no dazzling display of warm orange, yellow and red. No hope. No smoke. How would he ever be rescued if there was no smoke? "Father..." he cried out pitifully. His father wouldn't come to take him away if he didn't know where he was. He had to make a signal, somehow, to let them know where he was. But who was he signaling to now? Who was there to save him?

Ralph whimpered when he heard to door of his room creak open. They were coming back. The panic in his soul was rising. He could almost feel its icy, frenzied pumping through his veins as the footsteps came closer and closer and closer. Anticipation governed his senses and forced him to glance over his shoulder, to see the oncoming enemy. He had to do something. He had to escape them this time. He might never bring up the courage to do so again. Yet the fear seized him and wouldn't release its vice-like grip. He cried out as the enemy came closer.

It was speaking with kind words, yet he didn't know what it was saying. It was all fake. It was a mask, just like the white one he hid behind, in this white room, by the white bed, covered in a façade of white.

"Stay away from me, you...you...savage!" Ralph yelled. He backed away from the doctor to the back of the bed.

"Ralph, don't make this harder than it has to be." The savage cooed.

"No! I won't let you touch me! You let the fire go out! You let it out and the boat passed by. You killed Piggy!" His voice was cracking as the tears of fear and hatred he sought to suppress were heedless to his commands to remain pent up in his eyes.

At least three more of the savages came in the room. Ralph was unsure of how many there really were. All cognitive thought was rendered lame by the ranks of white smocks, its blinding properties overpowering his senses.

"NO!" He yelled. Still, they seized his arms and legs, forcing his struggling form down onto the bed, fastening the cruel leather straps to restrain his limbs.

"No...the fire." His eyes darted wildly about the half-concealed faces, looking for understanding, looking for concern. He found none.

"NO!" He began to jerk and writhe again as the savage brandished the needle. The nameless threat loomed over him. Whatever the device was, it was worse than the pain of its insertion. Its bite lasted far longer than that, with repercussions that did nothing but hurt Ralph. His reasoning began to disperse as he fought the miasma that was clouding his vision. "But the Beast..." He whispered, his eyes still wide in terror. One of the savages smoothed his sandy hair out of his eyes. "The Beast is..." Unable to win the war against his oppressor, Ralph slid back into the darkness that claimed his physical form, and now, his soul.

Outside in the black corridor, a man stood, watching with tear-filled eyes through the window to the room. He clutched his Navy-issue hat in his hands as his son's pitiful cries pervaded the cold hall and assaulted his weary ears. Of all the cries and pleas he'd experienced in war, the most heartbreaking was the one that could not be heard.

Jack strutted through the halls with a new-found arrogance. Smaller boys looked at him and spoke in hushed whispers whenever he passed by. He had gained a certain reverent respect around the academy since his return. It was as if he was as much a war hero as the men who had come home from the war. Yet, unlike them, his war still raged on. He grinned sinisterly, making a few idle boys scatter. He had returned from the island, yet he still had undeniable power over those willing to be his subordinates.

But in all of his might and power, he still felt an uneasiness, like something was not quite the way it should be. He felt like he was out of place among these boys, now.

He pushed the doors to the sanctuary open and sauntered down the aisle to the choir loft, where most of the other choristers were gathering. The maestro stepped up upon his podium and tapped his wand against the music stand to draw their attention. "We will turn to page three hundred and eight." He announced.

The rustling of pages could be heard reverberating from the walls as the boys complied. Jack found himself gazing at a version of Pie Jesu. He swallowed hard and waited for instruction. The maestro went through a brief history of Elgar while most of the boys stared at the great ceiling and tuned out whatever he had to say. Then, he specified various dynamics that should be expressed in the piece; the crescendos, decrescendos, the pianos, the fortes, and numerous other specifications.

"Jack, you will have the solo." He added sharply.

Jack didn't have time to respond; the wand was in the air and was brought down with a sharp "one". He began to sing.

"Pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu
Qui tollis peccata mundi
Dona eis requiem, dona eis requiem"

Jack didn't understand the sound that was coming from his mouth. It was unlike any sound he'd made before. It sounded strained, unnatural...fake...

The other books looked at him strangely as he continued to the next verse. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow as he assessed the music. The upcoming C sharp stared at him, black standing out on the stark white paper.

"Pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu, pie Jesu
Qui tollis peccata mundi
Dona eis requiem, dona--"

Jack's voice cracked as he reached the precarious note. Tears filled his eyes at the voice he didn't know, at his inability to accomplish that which he had been able to before. He glanced around at the other boys. They were looking straight forward. The booming voice of the chorus filled the sanctuary, it's beautiful sound cascading over Jack, its beauty so pure and free of blemish as if angel's were singing.

"My God," Jack thought as the tears began to escape. "What have I done?" He sank to his knees, the black choir robe pooling around his feet. "What have I done?" He muttered into his hands as the sound of his sobs were overpowered and unheard by the chorus of angels.

The clearing buzzed with reflective green life, the only thing green and alive left on the island. The Lord had left long ago, its horrible grinning head consumed by the flames. Most of the stake still stood, it's jagged, charred point reminiscent of some distant evil that had passed long ago. The buzzing sound was deafening as the winged creatures circled in the creepers. Yes, the Lord had gone long ago, but the flies still remained.