Chapter 3: Singe Mark

The pile of wood had grown to something big enough so that Ralph was sure that it would be able to sustain throughout the night. He'd never known how large one would have to make a fire, since he'd never have needed to up until this point. But even though he could accomplish that, there was one major roadblock that he needed to get out of the way; no one actually knew how to start the fire. Sure, there was your everyday rub-two-sticks together trick, the typical one everyone knew as a rule of thumb. The problem was just that that didn't really seem to be working. It seemed like no matter who tried, no matter how much strength they used or the type of wood they used, fire was entirely absent from the equation. Ironic, Ralph thought, considering the heat.

That deeply worried him the more he thought about it-would all of this work, all of their hopes to be rescued, be spent in vain? He could only stare down at the pile of sticks and wonder, as he cradled the conch in his arms, and as the chatter of the other boys continued around him, equally unsure of what exactly to do. Ralph was unpleasantly surprised to find that Piggy didn't seem to be taking any action either, and so the two of them sat solemnly together, trying to think of what they could do. Simon, on the other hand, had gone off to get a drink from one of the streams they had discovered; although the fair-haired boy was somewhat fearful that he might disappear into the forest just as Jack had.

Speaking of the devil, just as Jack crossed Ralph's mind again he was met with a whooping call from the bushes, signifying his presence. The crowd around him seemed to not know what to do, as if they were unaware to the fact that it was just the choir leader and not some foreign beast. For a moment all that Ralph could see was a flash of red hair and pale freckles; and then the blue eyes and the torn white shirt came into view, and the devilish smirk on his face.

"Quite the entrance Jack Merridew makes," Piggy muttered beside Ralph, narrowing his eyes with an unknown, newfound criticism of his own.

Excited cheers rose from the audience for a moment as they came to realize who it was who had appeared, but Jack quickly quieted them, and eyed the crowd with enthusiasm.

"Everyone! I've been-I've been out in the forest!" he exclaimed, holding up his knife to demonstrate his ebullience, swinging it experimentally. "And I've found something! There are pigs on this island, pigs we can hunt and kill!"

"But did you get one-?"

"Pigs! D'you think they're dangerous-?"

"Where are they-!"

"Quiet!"

Ralph stood, one hand gripping the edge of his shirt tightly. He was furious, now, that was for certain. "Jack! What's more important, hunting the pigs or going home? We already have fruit!"

Never before had Ralph used hostility with such urgency before. It was only the second day of their unfortunate excursion, and he was being bombarded with so many new situations; so he was definitely unsure of how to deal with someone so equal to him, especially when that equal was Jack Merridew himself. So when the crowd watched the two of them expectantly, wondering what the verdict of the argument would be, Ralph tried to steel himself against the possibilities.

Jack's eyes narrowed, and his scrutiny returned, but nonetheless he seemed to have some empathy for him. Clearly there was something he knew that Ralph did not-the fair-haired boy did not know of the primal desire to stab that ran through his veins or the bloodlust he'd experienced right before he'd stopped himself from cutting into the tender, vulnerable flesh… He'd have to find a way to communicate it, that was all, and then Ralph would stop being so mad. To his left was a stick, and rather than using his knife, he used the branch as a sort of mock spear.

Ralph watched him, clearly unsure of what he was trying to do, his gaze trained on the redhead with the same confusion as the rest of the crowd. Aware of this, Jack experimentally jabbed the air in front of him with the branching end of the stick. He quickly flung himself into explanation as to prevent any negative reactions.

"I know that! But the fruit won't sustain us forever-we'll need meat. So the hunters will have something to hunt." He swung the stick again, and jabbed it into the ground, trying to replicate some of the raw emotion from earlier. "We'll sharpen these sticks into spears… and the hunters'll have a weapon to hunt them with…" But as soon as he'd tried, it was lost, and thus all possible explanations he could have had to convey that sensation were lost to him. He forced another thought into his mind in an attempt to continue the conversation and remain metaphorically atop Ralph. "Plus, you could've lit the fire yourselves. Don't see why you need me around to do it, chief."

Ralph cringed at the smirk that played itself across Jack's lips. It was the incessant mockery that always drew another round of laughter from the group, but as insufferable as it was he forced himself to hold his dignity and continue forward.

"It's your responsibility, as a leader, to be here when we do important things like this. You can't just run off into the forest by yourself like that."

Blue eyes scanned the boys with analysis. "Fine. We could've had the fire lit by now if you'd stop arguing."

"Fine."

"How do you wanna do it, then? Couldn't you have rubbed two sticks together?"

"Didn't work."

"Got any other ideas, chief?"

That was where Ralph was lost. All of this felt stupid. Like he was arguing for nothing at all.

"We can use your friend's glasses, then."

In a flash, Jack had advanced upon Piggy and snatched the glasses directly off his face in one fluid movement, almost as if it had been calculated perfectly. While his companion was in shock, Ralph could only stare, a bit dumbfounded, at the thief who had taken them, who met his gaze with another one of his victorious, agitating smiles.

"Suppose that since I'm leader of the fire-guards, I should light it, shouldn't I?"

He was met with a roar of approval and a blue glare.

"What! Give those back, Jack-!"

Jack, now without the stick in favor of the glasses, wasted no time in getting over to the massive heap of viridescent wood, and roughly angled the glasses under a patch of sunlight, cocking his head back and squinting to ensure that it was on the correct place. Various members of the group began to gather around him in anticipation.

"Ralph! Tell him to be careful with those, will you? I need those to see!"

Despite his better judgement, Ralph joined them, admittedly equally excited to witness the creation of the fire. He'd been especially proud of himself when he came up with the idea, after all, so why shouldn't he be? It was only logical. Piggy, still blind as a bat, simply remained sitting where he was, palsied by the fear of tripping or falling on accident.

Steadily, a wisp of smoke formed underneath the pressure of the sunlight filtered through the lens of the specs, causing a wave of excitement to ripple through the audience. And then, all at once, a tiny flame sprung from the brush, and that really set them off. Ralph had to admit that he shared their euphoria-there was something immensely great about fire, something he had never thought of before. It brought him a hope he didn't know how to describe. It reminded him, thankfully, that perhaps going home would not be such a hard of a task as he had originally perceived it to be.

In the cheering, he was faintly aware of a call.

"Stop that, you! You're all acting like a bunch of kids-it's just a fire!"

It appeared that Piggy's statement was lost, however, in the sea of unparalleled feverishness that failed to realize that the fire was advancing quickly on the remaining branches. Too quickly for that matter. Nonetheless, the crowd dispersed to the edges to witness the embers develop into flames, and the flames develop into smoke. Ralph was near the center of the ring, having returned close to his original place near Piggy, close enough so he could hear him if he called out.

"Ralph! Did you get my specs back?"

He turned his head to look at Piggy, still feebly holding the conch. In a strange and unknown reply, he only set the conch down next to his friend and stood straight again, keeping his eyes on the fire with satisfaction. It was consuming the wood, the flames licking up the leaves and blackening them and burning them to ash, and stripping bark from it as if it were nothing. A force not to be reckoned with, he was certain.

"Ralph! It's going to burn up!"

Suddenly filled with a sense of importance, Piggy took the conch from where Ralph had set it. He'd known for a while now that the latter was likely too enraptured with the creation of his own idea, so he'd just have to take matters into his own hands.

"I've got the conch."

Too tired from shouting previously, he'd said it in his normal voice-quiet and simple. He knew that the only reason he'd gotten the crowd's attention at the moment was simply because of the object in his hands, but he didn't care. They'd listen to him now, and for right now that was all he desired. He cleared his throat, and kept calm and uncaring under the perpetual stare.

"Listen, all of you. You're all acting like kids! Can't you see, what you've done? Didn't it feel wrong? For the flames to be creeping so fast? Now look!"

He gestured to the fire and smoke billowed through the air. Indeed, the flames were busy beginning to burn a second scar down the face of the mountain. Their nerves went cold as they realized what they had started. Piggy coughed.

"All of you are actin' like kids-and look at where it got us! I tried to tell you! But none of you would listen!"

Some listeners abandoned the speech and started to stomp on the fire out of desperation. Ralph joined in, shaking himself out of being frozen with the reminder that he was chief, and that he should do something about this. Sparks idled in the afternoon heat.

"I told you that it was going to burn up! But you never listen to me! All you'll ever do is listen to yourselves…!"

There was a coughing fit, and Ralph nearly bit to break blood on his bottom lip as a part on his left calf was singed by the growing flames. He glanced down and saw the darkening mark.

"I don't ask to be a leader like Ralph. I only just ask to have some respect… is that too much to ask? Too much to ask of the lot of you?"

Some of the other boys yelped in pain as well, suffering a similar fate to Ralph from the burns. His mind raced. As chief, what was he to do now? What did someone do when there was a fire and it was burning out of control and your friend was yelling over the smoke? He leapt across and down the mountain, to where he thought the flames had most recently advanced, and removed his school sweater in a rush to beat at the flames with urgency. They shrunk and died away after a couple futile moments, retreating backwards and into the crowd of others fighting and beating the fire. Some of the flames had reached other, smaller parts of the forest, but he couldn't worry about that for now.

"And the littluns! Where are they? Some of them are missing! It's only the second day and some of them are already missing! Where's the one with the mark on his face? The one that looks like a mulberry birthmark?"

The cheering died with the embers, and the lingering sparks faded and shimmered away into the midday sun. Ralph stared back up towards the top of the mountain, briefly meeting Jack's gaze, who was still in possession of Piggy's specs. For once, he looked a bit guilty. A strange look to cross his face. The other choir boys were scattered amongst the littluns, looking off into the depths of the forest like they expected someone to crawl out of it.

Now that he was entirely audible, Piggy repeated the cataclysmic phrase, quietly and with his lungs filled with smoke.

"Where's the one with the mark on his face?"

Ralph cast a look down at the ground, trying to understand what had happened. There had never been an event like that before-where he was almost powerless to stop the fire from spreading and infecting the whole forest, where he was almost powerless to stop the hopes of returning home from burning their temporary home… He tried to savor the feeling in his mind, not because he had wanted to relish in the experience at all; but rather, because he wanted to have something like that never happen again.

No one spoke, and so the fair-haired boy decided to himself.

"Well…"

He lost the will to continue once he realized he had no explanation. Jack tried to pick it up for him.

"Probably off somewhere."

Inspired by this statement, Ralph looked up again, a wistful look upon his face as he tried to show his appreciation.

"Yeah. They must be off playing somewhere."

Roger nodded in approval, among some of the various other choir boys and the twins. Ralph was almost surprised to see such a reaction from him, since he'd achieved the feat of somehow being quieter than Simon up to this point. He looked towards Piggy in vain to try and see his acceptance of the claim, but he only stared in horror at the new scar in the mountain, still blind. He hurriedly thought of something.

"I need Piggy's specs."

With hesitance, Jack walked down the small slope to meet Ralph, and silently passed the glasses to him. He observed the lenses for a moment, and took note that one of them had been quite scratched, almost to the point of breaking. Too caught up in the consequences of their actions to process what Piggy's reaction would be, he himself went up the slant and put the specs back into his companion's hand, his head bowed once more.

There was no thanks given to Ralph as the glasses were slid back into place, and no reaction when Piggy realized they were scratched and he was left with one measly good eye. And so, there was no apology to be expected of anyone. Jack probably wouldn't have given one even if he'd asked, anyway. He would never listen to him. It was just a futile request.

"Let's relight it later and go down to the beach."

Ralph had said the words before his mind could fully process them, but he found himself agreeing with the subconscious command. Others gave their approval, and the littluns, still blissfully unaware of what had just happened, trotted down the jungle rocks and towards the water. They could only wonder where their friend had gone, and when he would come back.

The choir boys stayed put, awaiting a command input from their incapacitated leader, who was still staring intensely at the grassy ground below him. He shuddered as he came back to his senses and recognized his responsibilities, and he snapped to reality.

"We're going to go make those spears now."

Ralph, still dumbstruck, nodded dimly.

"Okay."

He would have protested if he was in his right frame of mind then, but all he could do was agree. He stared after the hunters as they left, in a tangled group, and they were off into the forest without another word at all. Ralph decided to take after them in the opposite direction, and head down to the stream to soak his singe mark, now that the pain was settling in. He'd have to get it properly treated when he got back home. He'd never been burned before, so he gave in to the itch of the mark and scratched it, quickly regretting his decision when that only caused it to flare up in more pain.

The more he walked, the more he became aware of someone following him, crunching through the plants and pushing past the creepers just as he was. He whirled around to meet them, and wasn't surprised to find the solemn face of Piggy, who was still holding the conch tight to his chest like he had to protect it. Ralph contemplated saying something to him for a moment, but decided that everything that needed to be said had already been said, and so he continued walking, allowing his companion to follow him every step of the way through the gloom.

Some of the others who had similar singe marks or burns to be accounted for had gathered in a group by the bathing pool, talking and laughing about things unrelated to the new, burned scar on the mountain, a companion for the scar with crushed trees and ruined plants, but Ralph had stuck with his decision to go to the stream by himself. He'd gotten his mind mostly off the incident, but still wasn't exactly up for talking. He felt it was his fault, somehow. It was his idea to light the fire, and all he wanted to do was get home, and he got caught up in the excitement of seeing the flames and the smoke. If he hadn't, maybe he'd have been able to stop the fire sooner and the more burned parts of the jungle, whose embers had finally died, would still be alive.

Piggy had gone to rest in the shade back on the platform. As far as Ralph could tell, he didn't blame him for what had happened on the mountain nor the damage to his specs-but it still made him wonder what exactly was going on in his head at the moment. He probably had blamed Jack for the incident, and honestly, Ralph blamed him for it as well. He had lighted the fire, after all, and he was the one who directly damaged the glasses in the first place. Ralph couldn't exactly feel any true anger towards him, though. He was still helpful, and despite his somewhat worrying obsession with the spears and the pig, he was a leader nonetheless, and the fair-haired boy still respected him as his compeer.

"Where'd you get that?"

He looked up instantly to meet the brown eyes of Simon, and instantaneously remembered that he had not been around for the fire incident-in fact, he had been nowhere to be seen for the past several hours or so. But there was no possible way that he could have gone this long without even hearing a whisper about the event.

"Didn't you hear about the-?"

Simon nodded, and Ralph winced. "I know."

They sat across from each other, Ralph almost painfully aware of the new wave of guilt that washed over him. Somehow admitting it to another person that wasn't even there to see it was all the more hurtful, and the silence made the scenario even more uncomfortable.

"You know, my… my father once got burned," Simon continued, trying to ease the tension. Ralph bit his teeth together briefly, and played into the conversation.

"Really? Well, it's not a burn, I think. Just got… singed."

"They're similar, though. A singe mark is not as hard to treat as a burn. So you'll be okay."

He was given a condoling smile, one that Ralph felt comforted by. He smiled back, vaguely, still a bit bothered, and went to scratch at the mark again, but stopped himself hesitantly once he recalled that it made the pain worse. He merely rested his hand on his knee, gripping and releasing the thorn-scratched skin absentmindedly, unsure of what else to do with it. He glanced back up towards the mountain, a silent reminder to him that he needed to relight the fire in case any vessels came past the island that night. Although he was still hopeful about the idea of rescue, he was doubtful that one would come so soon after they had crashed there.

Taking note of his suggestion, Simon let his smile turn to his neutral expression. "I'll go relight the fire with you. Really, I don't mind."

Somewhat shocked by the offer, especially coming from someone such as Simon, Ralph's gaze snapped back to his. "Are you sure? I thought that-"

"It's okay. Let's go relight the fire."

Simon rose to stand, and patiently waited for Ralph to remove his leg from the water. He cringed at the heat coming into contact with his injury again, but shook it off, knowing that he would have to climb all the way up the mountain like this for the better.

"We'll get Sam and Eric to guard it. Even though they aren't hunters. Two people is better than one, I think, especially for the first night."

The dark-haired boy nodded in agreement, brushing some spare plant matter off the sleeve of his somewhat tattered, white shirt, uncovered by the cloak he wore before. Clearly, the cloaks and black caps were of no use to the members of the choir now; the symbols of their status were now hindrances to them, intensifiers of the heat that had originally threatened to snipe them down with heatstroke. Some of them seem to have discarded them with disdain, while others simply saw no usage for them anymore, aside for mock blankets from the first night.

"And we'll get Piggy to come with us. Don't think he'd like having his glasses taken for a second time."

Another black-haired nod, and Ralph looked down towards the beach, still shimmering with brilliance even after the day's tragedy. It was still beautiful, still the same, regardless of whatever happened to it. It reminded him vaguely of a pretty home, a perfect place to relax and sleep in the shade. It was an ideal location to build the huts that had been suggested earlier in last night's meeting for certain. Today had been the day that they decided they would begin construction on them, but the day had been less productive than expected. Tomorrow for sure. Tomorrow the shelters would take form, and they would have a safe place to sleep. The fire would be lit and everything would be fine again.

Besides, Ralph felt comforted in the presence of Simon anyway, so that further assured him that there was nothing to worry about. He would just have to forget that all of this happened, and everything would be fine again. No more problems from here on out.