Disclaimer: No, I do not own any of the characters from Lord Of The Flies, they belong to William Golding. And sometimes I wonder how he'd deal with them if they were real. I only own anyone that doesn't belong in LOtF.
Summary: While the boys are on the island, they discover a time machine which takes them to the present. What does it have in store for them? Read on ...
A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! To Cammie Jensen - NOT PIGGY/RALPH I PROMISE! lol But anyway ... Yup, Shadowy Bey-Gurl, Piggy's popular. Ironic, I know. But hey, it's not meant to be a straight-head story. If I wrote straight-head stories, I'd write the same old "girl meets boy, falls in love, all the boys want girl ..." crap. NOOO! Just ... no. I'm weird! And that's how it is. :)
Chapter Four
Skoolz Don't Rulz
Jack angrily ruffled his crimson, coarse hair as he shuffled across the school grounds.A group of boys passed him and glared. Their hair was bleached, and they had scrunched up faces, almost like goblins. They were wearing strange suits containing of burberry and flat caps. They actually looked quite smart with their tartan blazers and walking together in a group. But their spitting, however, was common and vulgar.
''Disgusting!'' Jack snorted, rather loudly. He smirked it off, knowing he'd get away with it. But no. God he was wrong.
The bleacher boys glared at Jack, and caved in on him, like a flock of birds. The tallest one, who seemed to be their ringleader, spat at him.
''It's deegustin' eh?'' he sneered. ''Deegustin'! Yer 'ee deegustin' one! Stoopid pure mental gawf fag!'' He started honking with laugher, like a donkey. Jack stared at him, puzzled.
''It is disgusting!'' he snapped. ''No decent man would do that! Plus, I don't know whatever a goth is, so you're talking mince in my opinion.''
''Yeer make-oop eez gawffic!'' the bleacher screamed with laugher, and his henchman followed.
It was true, though - Jack did look a little ''gawffic.'' He had been the only one to rebel against the ''no make up to school'' rule at the foster home, and had entered wearing luminous colours of black, green and red, with black lips and eyes tinged slightly green and red hieroglyphics all over his face. Roger had also followed this look. He stood in front of Jack, clutching a spear in his hands. ''If you take Jack, you'll have to take me too,'' he growled, shielding him.
The bleachers guffawed at them. ''Oh, so whit yee gonna do eeboot it?''
Roger charged at the bleacher, diving at him, knocking him over - the bleacher now looked petrified! He squawked and squawked like a parrot, but the raging, glum-faced boy refused to let go. A crowd of girls who had been twiddling with Piggy's curls rushed over to watch, Piggy rushing after them desperately. Roger held up his spear like a knife, all ready to
smash it into the bleacher.
''Pweeze, mate! I woz just having a laff, innit!'' the bleacher shrieked. ''Lemme go!''
''Take it back!'' Roger barked hoarsely.
''But yeh was gothic, eh!''
However, Ralph made it through to save the day - he thrown himself at both Roger and the bleacher, but catching Roger in his grasp. The bleacher, who looked somewhat both amazed and confused, brushed himself as he pulled himself back up. ''Ya saved me life,'' he gasped, gazing at Ralph. ''Ya saved me life.''
''Well, not exactly,'' Piggy pointed out. ''That Roger's just psychotic anyways.''
Roger glared and started forward towards Piggy, but the bleacher got in the way. He chuckled at Piggy's joke.
''Yeh, 'ee iz psycho, man,'' he hissed, when Roger was out of earshot. ''Pure mental.'' he then nodded appreciatively at Ralph and Piggy, then strutted off. Ralph rolled his eyes, then hissed at Jack, ''His voice is funny!''
''Don't say that in front of him!'' Piggy snapped. ''He's decent enough to let you go.''
''Piggy.''
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''Class, we have a few new students,'' whirred Mr Whimsdale, the History teacher. He was lank and bleak with a personality to match, mumbling the names, ''... Rulf ... Simin ... Juck ... Rooger ... und Curl.''
''Carl?'' Jack pronounced delicately, with a clear and bright voice.
''Whutever, just get to yer seats,'' Mr Whimsdale sighed, a long, spider-like hand running through his greasy, thin fair. As the five boys sat down, Jack hissed across to Piggy, ''Curl! Curl! You're growing a Curl-ley tail!''
Piggy snorted. ''Oh, it's just a name,'' he scolded as quietly as he could. ''It's not that funny!''
Jack snorted to himself and placed his feet upon his desk. As Mr Whimsdale groaned and droned about how the British discovered cars, Ralph glanced over at him, smudging black clay around his eyes and scratching his head. He really didn't want to understand the future, did he? Sighing, he lay back in his own chair, and noticed that his fair hair that lost its control and curled in his eyes. He flicked it away. Nope, still there. He flicked it again. Still there! He soon lost interested that Scotland were the first to find British Oil or whatever Mr Whimsdale was speaking about, and started trying to blow his hair out of his eyes. One boy glanced at him. Pointed. Then sniggered. Ralph glared back - but there was no time. He just had to get that hair out of his eyes! So he continued to repeat this routine, until the end of the period.
However, whilst Jack and Ralph hadn't learned a thing, Roger and Simon were heavily
engrossed in their studies, along with "Carl." "Carl" had also noticed that Roger and Simon had been glancing at each other for afar ... he was reluctant to know why this was, but he decided not to engage any further. He also decided that he'd prefer not to be known as Piggy anymore ... but something a little more edgy ...
As Roger headed off by his own to Art, he noticed some boys in their year throwing something. Rubber, perhaps. Hah! Was that the best that they could do? Rubber? He was all prepared to show them what a real weapon of choice was, but that was then, where there had been no rules ...
And now, he just had to abide them ... but -
It was Simon.
It was Simon they were throwing the rubber at. Simon. And Roger wasn't going to allow that. Sure, Simon was batty, bonkers, bomb-happy and round the bend, but he was also a choir member, and not to mention, one of the more friendlier choir members! Before he knew it, spraying out of his hands were rocks, at the boys who had been hurtling the stationary substances at Simon.
In shock, the boys recoiled, not knowing who it was. A plan then struck him! He then chucked one at the dark boy. Then one at the one with the sticky-out nose. Then again. From the back ... then from the other side! Left, left again ... forward, retreat! Roger continued to repeat this routine until the two boys confronted each other.
''Stop throwing that at me!'' the dark boy shouted at his friend.
''What? It wasn't me! It was you!''
''Fuckin' right, you sad prick! What're you tryin' to do, eh?''
''Are you sayin' - Ya wanna piece of me!''
''Oh, aye right! Blame it all on me!'' The two boys continued to rant aloud to one another, as Simon headed to Art in peace. Feeling the need of protection, Roger caught up with him.
''Were those boys bothering you?'' he asked quietly. Not quite looking him in the eye, Simon nodded.
''They're a bit queer. Don't no why they were doing it ... so I chucked some rocks at them, but they thought it was them.''
''Huh?'' Simon blinked, startled.
''It wasn't what I did ... it was the way I did it.''
''Oh! Wacco!''
The two boys laughed as they headed for class. Strangely enough, as they got there, they realised they were stuck with Piggy again, and Samneric! What also surprised them is the fact that Piggy already had a crowd of twelve around him.
''How the hell did he get so great around people?'' Roger hissed, raising an eyebrow.
''Beats me,'' Simon shrugged. Startled at the noise level of the group, Simon decided it would be rather wizard to see what was going on ...
''Ya know whit rapping iz?'' a boy demanded, standing opposite Piggy. He was dark and tanned, with a witty grin and dark glittering eyes. Although he was wearing the school uniform, he was swearing it much cooler than the obvious "rebels" with two buttons down his shirt, one diamond earring and a few golden bracelets hanging from his wrists.
''No, but I haven't been listening recently,'' Piggy muttered. ''I don't really listen to music ... if y'know what I mean ... erm ... different timing.''
The boy glanced, then rolled his eyes. ''Whiteva.'' He then diverged into his own little performance, talking at a strange, bizzare speed. Neither Samneric, Roger or Simon could make out a word he was saying, but Piggy was listening intently. ''Now you try.''
He stood, there; waiting. Piggy gasped; there was an audience. He breathed in; nothing came out. He sighed; but then he caught his breath. And suddenly, ever so quick, words errupted from his mouth like vomit:
''Yo, yo yo, I'm talkin' to yo! Me and m'friends don't know where to go! It's hot, never cold, it don't rain or snow, and we never know if we've ever missed our favourite show! It's a nice warm night, which is what I desire, I'd rather hang with my friends and play, than curl up around a fire! So if you're feeling feel blue, and you're no friendly with your crew - remember, desertion on an island never happened to you!''
The crowd gasped; even Roger caught his breath. That was one good thing Piggy was good at! When the crowd exploded a huge applause, Simon gasped for his last breath and passed out.