ADJUSTING
CHAPTER FOUR
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Lord of the Flies, nor the characters contained therein.
The boys were roused from uneasy sleep at eight o'clock the next morning. They drowsily assembled for a morning prayer in the dining hall, then sat down to breakfast, the stupor of sleep still weighing heavily upon them. Ralph poked nauseously at his food, and pushed his plate away from him, sighing heavily. Jack noticed this, and elbowed Roger, who looked up at Jack, and an eager smile appeared on his face. Watching Ralph play with his food, Jack put down his own fork, and leaned across the table to whisper to Ralph.
"What's the matter, Ralph? Egg and toast not good enough for you? Prefer some nice pig?" He sat back down in his chair, and stared challengingly at Ralph, smirking condescendingly at him. Roger looked between the two in anticipation, relishing the tense atmosphere. Ralph was silent for a moment, then looked up to stare Jack in the eyes, hot fury emanating from his regal posture.
"What did you say?" It wasn't a question, rather a challenge. The boys watching this silent battle paused with food halfway to their mouths, waiting to see how Jack would respond to this challenge. Jack appeared to be slightly uneasy, but covered it quickly with a cocky attitude.
"I asked if you'd prefer pig's meat. As I recall, you seemed to be quite fond of it.
"But Ralph didn't hunt, Jack. No more did Simon." Roger chimed in, maliciously accenting the deceased boy's name. A collective breath was sucked in around the table. No one spoke Simon's name aloud. He was a taboo subject. He was always with them, lurking in the foreground of their minds, but he was never discussed. The boys exchanged knowing glances, and turned back to face the speaker.
What baffled the boys even more so than the use of their fallen comrade's name, was the one who spoke it. Roger never talked to anyone. He was a crafty enigma, who spent his time observing and listening, but he was never one to speak unless spoken to, which was a rare occurrence in itself. Roger inspired a sense of dread in all but the hardiest of boys. Unlike Jack, who proudly displayed his commanding presence, Roger seemed to be a nameless entity, something all the boys recognized, but none understood. Roger, never mean, only cruel. Roger, the good-looking and clean-cut psychopath. Roger did everything with military precision. His clothes were always pressed, his hair always combed and neat, and his shoes always shone. At first glance, Roger appeared to be an angel, a perfect, unmarred visage, shiny black hair that assumed a seemingly effortless perfection, and a stance that set him apart from all the others. But looking closer, Roger was anything but. His eyes glinted not with mirth or mischief, but as if they were flecks of ice. His unblemished countenance seemed carved out of a block of marble, impassive and unfeeling. The careful determination that marked his every move was not born out of nobility or caution, but a carefully practiced cruelty. Many people had made the mistake of assuming that Roger's perfection stemmed from an inner glow, but Roger's perfection was made from ice. Roger was cold, calculated, and cunning.
Ralph turned to look at Roger, bewildered by the boy's sudden break of self-imposed silence. His wonder soon turned to anger, when he took in what the boy had said. No one mocked Piggy. Like Simon, Piggy was a subject that was never discussed, but often thought of. He was the cause for more than one boy's sleepless night. Ralph gripped his knife so tight his knuckles turned white. He stared, scrutinizing Roger, forming a reply.
"If you ever say that again, it will be the last thing you do." His words chilled the boys, and gave put Roger at ill ease. Roger had been hoping to incite Ralph's temper, to make him yell or attack, anything. He had not expected such a solemn vow. It frustrated him, and he scanned the table, looking for another target. He caught sight of a young'un, staring raptly at Ralph, with a look of complete amazement on his face. Roger narrowed his eyes and sent a vicious kick his way under the table. The young'un yelped, and looked around for his tormentor. His eyes landed on Roger, who was eating his breakfast, a look of complete innocence on his face.
Roger was a boy of deceiving appearance.
A/N: The idea for Roger's appearance came to me from Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, where he describes Enjolras (I think) as seeming perfectly attractive to all the girls, but when they tried to attract him, they quickly found out not to confuse angelic perfection with cold-hearted perfection.
Stasya: There were two reasons for not taking that route. The first was that the novel takes place during a war. During the blitz in the 1940's in London, many children were sent away from the dangerous cities to live with foster families in the countryside. When they eventually returned, many families had been killed, or had left the country. The second reason was that after living alone for so long, some of the boys would have forgotten details like that (especially if they were already living at a boarding school beforehand.). In my story, the army officers sent letters and attempted to contact the guardians at the addresses the boys gave, instead of just sending them home without checking first.
R&R please.