Chapter Three - Infatuation Turning Into Disease
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Ralph opened his eyes and shut them again. Light. The light hurt so much. He pushed himself up until he was kneeling, his hands on his knees as he fought to keep his eyes open while they adjusted to how bright it was. He rubbed them; they were stinging from the dirt that had blanketed his fingers during the few hours of rest he had gotten. Ralph was still so tired, but he knew he couldn't sleep, just in case anyone came looking for him and found him hidden away in the brush. Just in case he went to sleep and they didn't allow him to wake up again.
He ran his hand through his hair, hoping to remove the mess of twigs and leaves that had entangled in it during the night. After his encounter with Jack, he had spent the next few hours trying to sort everything out, trying to get everything to make sense. Jack had found him but hadn't killed him, even dropping his spear to prove to Ralph he had no intentions of hurting him. It didn't make sense.
He stood up, his legs shaking slightly and looked at where he had just been sleeping. It would be another place tonight, just in case Jack had followed him through the forest, seen where he had laid to rest, and was planning on taking him by surprise with a few other tribe members by his side.
Ralph walked slowly and cautiously through the trees, something he had quickly and easily grown accustomed to, making his way to the lagoon so that he could get something to drink. The water tasted so pure and it ran so smoothly down his throat, it was so different from heat of the island. He heard his stomach begging for food and he grimaced at the thought of eating fruit and getting sick. If only he had meat...
But he could have meat.
He could give up, go and join Jack's tribe, become one of the mindless hunters that followed the head choir boy around like he was some type of god. He could hear Jack calling the other hunters to him so that they could laugh at him, laugh that he had finally given up after days of lurking scared through the forest. Then Jack would probably sit on his throne (if Jack had a throne and he was sure that he did) and make Ralph kiss his feet to show that he had given up all power. Then they would probably just kill him anyway. Jack would get exactly what he wanted.
But then, Ralph really didn't know what Jack wanted. The day before he had thought the red haired boy wanted him dead.
Ralph plucked some fruit off the tree and turned it over in his hands. Almost everything was rotten, and the sour juice in his mouth made him nauseous.
Yes, he would do anything for meat. And if it wasn't for the memory of Simon and Piggy, he would do anything to get it.
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Jack leaned his back against the rocks, watching as the tide rolled in and retreated back. The water was so blue; it almost blended in with the sky so that he couldn't tell where one ended and where the other began. He picked up the survival knife, something that he as chief always carried in his possession, and began to carve the block of wood he had found. He didn't know what he was making, but he didn't know what else he should be doing. It would only be a matter of minutes before some one found him and begged him to go out on another hunt and he would lead the screaming group through the forest. Jack didn't want to go hunting.
Jack wanted to be alone. Jack wanted the comforts of sleep. Jack wanted to be off this damned, forsaken island.
That's why he sat in the same spot every day, staring off into the horizon, hoping to one day see a boat or a ship or something, anything to give him proof that there was life beyond the island, outside of a bunch of boys running around in war paint.
But he was one of those boys.
Even worse, he had created them.
He had been the first to paint his face and had made the others follow in his footsteps. He had gotten everything he had wanted. He was chief now, he had control over everything on the island.
Except Ralph.
Everything, the entire island, it all felt like a dream to him. He could barely remember school, his family, the choir boys before they had become his followers. He wondered if this was how he would spend every day of his life until he died. In a day. In a week. In a month. Or maybe he would spend years slipping into insanity before he could finally sleep again.
Jack, who had stopped paying attention to what his hands were doing, saw it before he felt it. He dropped the knife and stared at the blood running down his palm, sliding over his wrist, staining the sand. He didn't try to stop it, but just waited.
That's when he felt his finger start throbbing and smiled. He could still feel pain.
"I guess I'm still alive."
"Chief!" Jack looked over as Roger walked towards him. His black hair was a mess and had grown down almost to his shoulders. Jack tried to recall what Roger looked like before they had been on the island, but all he could gather were those same cold eyes and a choir boy uniform.
"What are you doing?" Roger looked down at the blood on the ground. "Was it the beast?"
Jack laughed. He knew damn well Roger never believed in the beast, and Roger knew Jack didn't believe in it either. "What do you want, Roger?"
"The others want to go on a hunt. They want more meat."
Jack smiled, looking back out at the water once more, hoping that there was something there. But when all that greeted him was blue fading into blue, he stood up and faced Roger. Using his other hand, he dipped a finger in his blood and drew a slanted line across one of Roger's cheeks.
"Chief?" Roger asked. Jack stopped and looked away.
"Let's go."
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Ralph always ended up here, in the shadows of all he had created. The three huts still stood somehow, after all the storms that they had faced since they had first come to the island. He could still remember how hard they were to build, how he and Simon had built each one together with Piggy talking of how he couldn't help because of his ass-mar. He remembered how many days they had spent lying inside them, talking about if they really believed in the beast, how angry he was that the littluns...and the biguns...never listened to anything he had to say. They had sheltered them through all the rain and all their fears, as if a pathetic shelter of branches and leaves was their only true protection from the reality of death and hunger and never seeing home again.
Ralph could still remember all those days in his head, walking with Jack on the beach, swimming together in the lagoon. Back before the other had drifted from him, formed his own tribe and killed Ralph's two closest friends. Jack had been one of his closest friends then, too. He didn't know what they were now. Not friends. Enemies? Rivals? But Ralph had stopped fighting so long ago.
An overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over him, gripping at his heart as the fact he was alone was being screamed at him again.
The platform was not too far off. Ralph remembered when he had been chief, when all the boys had gathered around him and listened to everything he had to say. Before they had all gone insane, painting their faces and yelling war chants that he didn't see how would help get them off the island. Ralph laid back in the sand, stretching his back and sighing to himself. He was tired of walking, he was tired of being on the island, he was tired of everything.
Maybe the hunters killing him wouldn't be so bad after all.
At least then he could sleep.
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"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"
"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"
"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"
Jack smiled as he sat on his "throne" - something the littluns had constructed out of rocks for him as a gift to their chief, as the boys dropped their kill in front of him. It was almost nightfall; Jack could see the sun sinking down behind the trees. They had been out for hours...or what Jack would consider hours. Time barely existed since they landed on the island, just the memory of time when they had clocks and watches and their lives were ruled by a bell. Countless spears fell to the ground and some boys collapsed where they were. A group stood ready with the fire already burning. Others gathered around, whispering and smiling at the prospect of eating after a long day of hunting. They were tired and they were hungry.
"Will you do the honors?" Roger asked. Jack was jerked from his thoughts of night time and its pending meaning for him and looked at Roger. He already had the survival knife in his hand, poised over the dead pig's throat.
Silently, Jack got up and took the knife from Roger's hand. He felt the blood running over his fingers as the head rolled away from the body. The littluns cheered, some yelling, "Another gift! We need to leave it another gift!" Jack got up and faced the water, which was shining in the retreating sun.
"Right. Leave it...for the beast." Jack heard movement behind him - spears running through the pig's body as it was lifted over the fire. He looked down at the blood on his hands and closed his fists so that it ran through his fingers. He remembered when this was what he had so truly desired, to slaughter and to have power.
But strangely, his mind...or it could be his heart, something he had prided himself in never admitting he had...told him he desired something else.
Some one else.
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A.N.: I know it was another pointless chapter but I promise, Jack and Ralph meet at the very beginning of chapter four, so you guys don't have to wait much longer for good things to happen... =) Again, I wrote this all so long ago I barely remember what happens. I feel so bad for dragging it out this long.
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted. Seriously, you have no idea how much it means to me. I just got done with midterms so I'm too tired to look up everyone's names, but just know that everything is greatly appreciated more than I can express at two in the morning.
And I have to give a huge, huge thank you to my lovely friend, Jane, who read most of this story over for me.
Love and hugs! Please read and review!