Rating went up to T because I'm paranoid about a scene in this chapter. Before some of you go rabbit hopping down the wrong path, Jack and Ralph haven't met up yet and none of the other boys are aware that Ralph is still living. The scene I'm worried about is just kind of bloody.
Arrows: Chapter 3
Devoured
Ralph starts at the clumsy sounds of feet against plant life but is too well trained to react to the noise. The uncertain shadows and flickering lights in the forest provide him camouflage and he knows through trial and error that not moving is his best course of action if he wishes to remain undiscovered. A boy blunders into the clearing, stops to catch his breath and drops down on one knee, examining the pig trail Ralph had been observing just seconds ago. After a while, the boy straightens up and continues on in a more careful manner, treading light-footed on the trail. From his hiding place, Ralph arches one pale eyebrow; he highly doubts the scrawny boy could run down a pig on his own, much less hold one down long enough to kill it. Besides, the alarm a bird had raised not too long ago would have put all of the pigs on guard. There was currently no way a single spear, thrown by this bony child, could take one of the animals out.
Feeling curiosity spike in his chest, Ralph rises to his feet and begins to follow the young hunter watching him pause periodically and cast fearful glances over his shoulder before hurrying on along the well worn trail. There is a close call when the boy had looped back without Ralph noticing and he had nearly been seen. Luckily, the boy was occupied and Ralph's reflexes were superb and they'd passed each other without the younger ever noticing he was being followed. The boy continues on, head bent forwards, reading the signs on the ground. The blonde teen suddenly has an urge to draw an arrow and watch it sail and plant between the shoulder blades of the unsuspecting hunter. He swallows the feeling but can't stop the memory of a savage high he'd received during a kill some time ago from welling up. It had been so easy to slip over the edge and let the beast take over everything. No, he can't lose. Not to it, not to anything, not if he wants to find some sort of escape from the darkness eating away his sanity.
The boy he's been tailing stops suddenly and Ralph freezes, afraid that he'd alerted the hunter somehow. The next sounds he hears though, relaxes him somewhat; the soft muffled snorting Ralph himself had been looking for floats through the air, alerting both to the animals ahead of them. Pigs. There's an audible sigh of relief from the smaller frame and the boy turns and vanishes into the undergrowth. So, a scout to seek out the location of the pigs before the actual killing component came. Ralph gives a weary smile; Jack hasn't changed much over the years. He waits a few seconds more to ensure that the boy has truly gone before sliding out onto the trail himself. It might not be wise, per say, to get near the pigs but there's nothing stopping him from doing so and he wants to know how many there are up ahead. The pigs are unaware of Ralph's approach, continuing to root in the mud for food. His hands are itching again, the want to spill blood pulses at the back of Ralph's mind and unconsciously, he reaches for his bow and arrows. Rational thought intervenes at the last possible moment, there's no gain in startling an entire herd of pigs; as good as he is with the bow, there's no guarantee that there will be no injury in the process of retreating from a stampede. He doesn't have margin for error, not if he wants to survive. The arrow slides back into its place regretfully and the bow is slung once again across his shoulders.
If Jack ran true to nature, a hunting party would be dispatched right after the report is made back to him. That meant the prudent action for Ralph was to choose a place where he could watch the hunt and have a clear view of all of the hunters while also remaining relatively safe from discovery. Deciding that most hunters didn't climb trees during a hunt, Ralph swings up onto a low branch and makes his way up into the higher levels of a tree, the paint on his body breaking up his shape and blending him into the scenery. The pig herd tenses and Ralph freezes, a few minutes pass before he starts to ascend again, settling on a fork in the branches. Now he just has to wait. The only problem is, the burning craving to destroy doesn't let up; he can't slip, not again, because- Ralph frowns, because? That miniscule distraction is all the repressed beast needs. The teen rises to a half crouch, balancing precariously on the branches, a feral smile twisting his fair features. Wouldn't it be fun to anger the hunters? Adrenalin sets his heart racing; he wants to watch the full force of the savages' anger be brought upon the scout. He wants to see blood, wants the coppery tang to taint the air, wants the destructive nature of the chief to be unleashed upon the island for him to see.
The arrow is released before his rational mind can claim dominance again and prevent the shot. A pig rears up suddenly and falls over, an arrow buried in its side. The small, sharp head has driven itself straight into and through the animal's heart. A perfect shot. The surrounding pigs scatter, squealing with rage and terror; from his perch, Ralph feels the tremors from the stampede and tightens his hold on the branches supporting him. The blonde slides down after the screams and thundering feet dies down, running lightly to the dead animal and jerking the arrow out in one fluid motion. Blood gushes forth in torrents, coating his hands and covering the plants underneath in a suffocating layer. It's so pretty. Red hands touch his face and smear the warmth onto his cheeks, bloody fingers leaving long, crimson trails on his skin. "You always knew I was a part of you, didn't you? Close! Close!" The teen licks his hands, savoring the salty, metallic taste on his tongue before gutting the pig, watching more of the red liquid spill out onto the Earth.
"You've always been mine, didn't you know?" The innards are dragged out and coiled neatly in an almost ceremonial way, "Fall with them. Come have fun. He is waiting."
Ralph suddenly jerks back, eyes huge, and backs away from the carnage he's caused with his own hands. "Where are you going? Will you try to run away again?" The purring voice is suddenly laced with malice; Ralph swallows the nausea he can feel rising at the back of his throat.
"Come here!"
The blonde runs. The undergrowth whips at his arms and legs and the hanging creepers sting his face. Sudden rushes of disjointed memories tumble over each other for prominence in his brain.
~We need an assembly.~
~I'm not going to play any longer. Not with you.~
~Maybe the beast isn't real, I mean, maybe it's only us.~
Maybe it's only us. He runs until his lungs are burning and his legs ache with the exertion, but he can't escape the echoes bouncing around in his mind. It's only us. Only us. Thick vines tangle and trip him, finally bringing him to his knees, gasping desperately for oxygen. Ralph slumps in the thick plant coverage, curling in on himself as the soft whispers of the beast giggle tauntingly, "My poor misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?"
Yes, some of the lines are directly quoted from Lord of the Flies. The others I made up on my own. And chapter four isn't writing very well. T_T I hate writer's block.