Tormented Thoughts
SabbathBloodySabbath27
AIM: PrisonerofWarX27

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies and all characters, events, and situations related to the book are the products of Mr. William Golding's imagination, not mine. I do not claim ownership or affiliation with anybody or anything involving the book, with the exception of this work of fiction.

A/N: This fanfiction is part one of a two-part series, so it won't be finished. Just warning you ahead of time.

Also, please read and review. I'd like to know what some of the readers think of my work, to see if I am the only one who thinks that it sucks.

Ralph sat silent in the passenger's seat of his mum's little red car the whole trip to the councilor's office. If he could have, he would have gazed out the window at the busy sidewalks of London, but it had been raining and the glass had condensed, so he faced forward and closed his eyes instead.

He vaguely remembered the argument that took place over a week ago between his parents about scheduling sessions with a psychologist for him. His dad had said something about thirteen-year-olds shouldn't be put through the psychological stress of the encounter, and the best treatment was to forget about the island and go on with life.

Ralph only somewhat agreed with him. He couldn't say that he was looking forward to "psychological evaluation", but he very seriously doubted he could just forget about everything that had happened, what with Piggy and Simon's murders and the Beast and the fire and…Jack Merridew, that bloody prick.

Suddenly the boy's mind recalled the scene…Roger pushing the lever beneath the boulder…the massive rock shattering the sacred conch and Piggy falling…the fat boy's head splitting on the jagged rocks below…all the blood…the waves carrying his body out to sea, never to be seen again.
As Ralph's memory played the scene again, his body began to tremble, as if shivering from fear, rage, grief, whatever. He wasn't sure if his mum had noticed; if she had she ignored it. He tried to stop, but he couldn't. He decided to try to speak to see if the brain command would allow him to regain control of his body.

"How much farther?" he said, trying to calm himself enough to keep his voice from quivering. He couldn't tell if it had or not.

"'Further,'" his mum corrected him. "Use correct English."

"Sucks to correct Eng-lish," Ralph muttered. He seemed to have stopped shaking.

"Excuse me?" his mother snapped.

"How much further?" he asked again.

"We're a couple blocks away, still," she replied as she turned left onto a less crowded street. "Make sure you're polite to the doctor today, Ralph."

"Sucks to polite-ness."

"I mean it. Be on your best behavior."

"Sucks to good be-hav-ior."

Ralph's mum sighed as she parked the automobile in front of a brick building and opened the driver's door. Ralph didn't know how she could possibly tell this was the doctor's building; in London they all looked the same to him, and it had no sign or marker on it.

"Sucks to good be-hav-ior," he murmured again as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. The cool air and rain came as a relief from the stuffy interior of the car and he wished he could stand there just for a bit, but his mum hurried him up some concrete steps and into the place.

The waiting area of the office made Ralph want to upchuck, and he thought it was quite possibly the most atrocious room he had ever set foot in. It was decorated with red-brown carpet, and the walls were painted white with fake-looking wood paneling halfway to the ceiling from the floor. The upholstery on the chairs matched the carpet, and the arms and legs of them were stained dark brown. Ralph found it hard to believe that anyone could be comfortable in the room, even batty people.

He was glad the office wasn't very busy; in fact he was the only person there besides a tall redheaded lad.

He sat in a chair and closed his eyes, mainly to give them a rest from the terrible carpet and paneling and chairs. He had pushed all the thoughts out of his mind and was on the verge of dozing off when he heard something he never thought he would:

"Jack Merridew, the doctor can see you now."

Ralph's eyes snapped open and he sat straight up in his chair, watching the tall redhead get up and start making his way across the waiting room.

Had he not been so surprised, he might have yelled something at Jack, or maybe even approached him, but all he could do now was watch him go.

Bloody hell, that…was Jack? He was unrecognizable now. He was so…clean looking, with his hair cut and whatnot. What puzzled Ralph, though, was that he hadn't recognized his face. He figured that that was probably how Jack had looked just after the plane crash, but that was so long ago, he couldn't recall. That was before the pig's blood, before the clay paint, before the murder.

That's probably what had changed him the most. It wasn't the blood, or the paint…it was the raw bloody murder!

Jack was the one who had killed Simon, his hands and body covered in blood as he stole the innocent boy's life from him. It was because of Jack that Piggy had died; Roger was taking orders from his "chief."

…Jack Merridew was a cold-blooded killer, and Ralph would never forgive him for doing what he did…for taking what he took.

As he gradually settled back into his chair, Ralph though about Simon, the quiet and peculiar, but caring, compassionate, and overwhelmingly intelligent boy for whom he had had such strange feelings about ever since he had met him. He always felt the Simon had known something about everybody. It was almost as if he had had the ability to see into people's souls and drag out their deepest secrets. Ralph couldn't help but think that it was because of this ability that the boy was murdered, his beautiful gift destroyed.

Most of the boys on the island took Simon as a batty kid, but Ralph had always known better. He knew that Simon was wider than every other lad there, even Piggy. His shy and quiet behavior prevented most from seeing this, but he knew. Ralph knew. And Jack knew.

Ralph saw the door of the waiting room open and Jack walking towards the exit to leave. Now was his chance. He'd been waiting for months for an opportunity like this.

"Wait!" he shouted. Jack stopped walking and smirked when he saw the fair-headed boy coming towards him.

As Ralph swung at him, Jack ducked and spun around. He pinned Ralph against the wall, holding him by his shirt collar. As Ralph struggled to free himself, he looked in Ralph's eyes.

"Listen, 'Chief,'" he spat, his piercing blue eyes glossed over, "we may not be on the bloody island anymore, but I'm still stronger than you. And I could still kill you, just like that nutter, Simon. Don't mess with me, fool."

With that Jack delivered a single punch to Ralph's lip and threw him to the ground. By the time the smaller boy was standing again, he was gone.

"Damn him to bloody Hell," Ralph muttered as he used to mirror above the sink to help him dab the blood from his lip with toilet paper.

He couldn't believe Jack Merridew had beaten him again. If only he wasn't so small. If only he wasn't so weak. If only…if only.

"One of these days I'll get him," he thought. "One of these days I'll kill Jack Merridew."

The actual councilor's office was much more inviting than the waiting area. The carpet was a grayish colour and the walls were a beautiful shade of dark blue. In the center of the room were two oversized leather chairs. Seated in one of them was the psychologist, a kind-looking middle-aged woman. Sitting in the other was Ralph.

"So what was your relationship with Jack on the island?" asked the doctor.

Ralph looked at the ceiling for a minute, then shrugged.

"Listen, Ralph," the councilor said gently, "I can help you if you don't talk to me."

"Sucks to your help," Ralph replied, still staring at the blue ceiling.

The doctor sighed and closed her notepad. "All right, then," she said, rising from her chair, "you can leave now."

"Maybe your father was right about all this," Ralph's mum said as she drove away from the accursed office, "but I can't believe I spent all that money for nothing."

"Sucks to your money," Ralph said out of habit, but he hasn't really been paying attention.

All the way home, the fair-headed boy had just one thing on his mind: Jack Merridew, the cold-blooded killer.

To be continued…

A/N: Yup, that's it. I have the sequel (which will be probably be called "Love and Revenge") almost finished, but I fell asleep last night before I did.

So I have to finish writing it, type it up, edit it, then get it posted. All in all, I should have it up by Friday or Saturday at the very latest.

Please read and review. I'd like to know what some of you think about this, because to be honest, I was rather dissatisfied with the finished product (I'm a perfectionist by nature, though, so I'm always unhappy with my work). I want to see if it really is bad, or if it's just me.

So…yeah. Thanks for reading, and please review!