freakishlyundaunted

[freakishlyundaunted]

[freakishlyundaunted]

Ouroboros - LotF Angst Oneshot

TW: Vomit, murder, mental distress

A/N: I’m so glad to be posting this on Tumblr! When writing this, the only goal was to try to further delve into the characters. I really enjoyed writing this, and as much as I would like to yap, I should refrain just as much! This isn’t intended to be a ship fic, however any and all interpretations of this work is valid :) Apologies for any formatting issues or typos! Enjoy!

P.S. Italic quotation belongs to the book Lord of the Flies. All characters in this work are from Lord of the Flies. This work is not on any other platforms than AO3 and Tumblr. Special thanks to my Beta reader, M, you’re a real one for this.

Word count: 2.5k+ words

The boy with fair hair stared out at the clearing of ocean, gazing at the ripples of each wave, and included the separation of the navy blue water and baby blue sky into his view. The boy that gazed sat upon a smooth white bench, palms fiercely gripped to the lip of the bench that sank into the boat, which skidded fiercely along the waters upon a cloudy day. His face held a serious stare under the boy’s sunburn, which glowed a rosy red and covered his face and body as a burden. The wind pushed against his grime-covered body, and through his tousled hair, which consisted of small matted bits, leaves that poked out of his hair in a matter of trespass, and outgrown strands that stuck to the nape of his neck. Hunger so obviously gnawed at this young boy, his ribs beginning to protrude from his mid-torso. The only thing that seemed to hold this boy together was the shirt that hung from his body, tattered and stained, and a ripped pair of shorts that were on the verge of falling apart. This boy, who seemed so misguided and malnourished, only focused on the end, and the beginning.

Ralph broke his gaze from the ocean to look over at the other boys. All of these boys were, like Ralph, covered in blood and dirt. Some still cried, silently, while others sniffled and quietly whispered to one another. Sam and Eric were laid out beside and parallel to one another, asleep with tear-stained cheeks. Roger was staring at his knees with deep intensity, snapping his head up in alert whenever a sudden noise occurred. Percival wept pathetically to himself, his small and frail body shaking with every inhale and exhale of his lungs. It had begun to make Ralph physically ill to even look over to Jack Merridew, who had his knees tightly pressed to his chest, with his arms wrapped around his legs and paint-covered body self-consciously. Ralph felt sharp air claw at his throat when his head stopped turning. Jack’s clay paint was smeared violently from its original, neat design, his thick freckles and sunburn showing through the now transparent paint, exhibiting signs of a human despite previous actions and decisions. Curly red hair festered down the back of Jack’s neck, bangs far away from his blue eyes, which fell empty. His dirtied face seemed almost blank in that moment, until he looked up into Ralph’s wandering eyes, sensing the pair of eyes that stared at him. In that moment, he didn’t break eye contact, rather, he buried half of his face in his arms by laying his head down shamefully, while his face kept the blank emotion of neutrality. Jack’s eyes still stared into Ralph’s soul as though he was talking to him telepathically... Ralph’s grip impossibly tightened on the edge of the bench-

The boat hit an especially thick wave, causing everyone to jolt up in that moment. Every littlun and biggun collectively sighed and whined, annoying the officers who drove the boat. This uproar broke the staring contest Jack and Ralph had been partaking in.

A sense of dread loomed over Ralph at that moment, as he realized the true gravity of his return home. Sure, he would return back to safety in less than a few hours, but that meant going back to ‘normal.’

How could normal be defined? Was it a feeling? Was it an action? Was it a lifestyle? Was it laughing with someone identified as a ‘friend’ around the fire? Was it hunting pigs as if life depended on it? Was it shouting aggressively in victory, and carrying the dead carcass of a hog by a stick? Was ‘normal’ hunting down people that were called friends only days ago? Was it being so terrified of the one who once followed your rule? Was it being rescued after two were dead? Was it talking to parents as if nothing happened, and wallowing in this conniption for a lifetime?

Then, it dawned on him. How normal would normal be if the atom bomb was anything but a tall tale? The imagination of the young boy trembled with hysteria. If everyone he knew was dead, including the friends he made on the island, then he wouldn’t have anyone. Any of the boys who partook in the dance were no longer alive either, rather, they were poisoned by Jack and his tribe.

Jack and his tribe. A simple grouping that made Ralph seethe in silent confusion, anger, sadness, and true curiosity. How could someone be so kind, humorous, and such a normal human, instantly turn into a greedy, narcissistic, and uncaring beast? And how could Ralph be such a fool to laugh with Jack, eat with Jack, and hunt with someone so sinister? How does one switch to the facade of normalcy after committing an atrocity as murder?

With Jack on his mind, Ralph looked back over only to see cold eyes meeting his, intimidating him, and before he could give a proper reaction, Jack Merridew moved and sat beside the boy he had tried to murder only a few hours ago. Ralph, petrified beyond belief, froze in fear. An image in his mind appeared: A thick wooden stick that had been sharpened at both ends. Beyond this spear lay the painted face that smiled over his demise and strangled any of Ralph’s happiness with the dirty hands of death. If Jack had been sent down as the Devil who reigned over the Earth, he would feign shock.

Neither said a word for what seemed like an eternity. Ralph found nothing to say and assumed this of the other. There wasn’t anything Ralph wanted to say more than to tell Jack away, yet he found silence. Even then, Ralph was unable to face Merridew, forcing his gaze away from the ginger to look back out to the greying sea, but the procrastination did nothing to send Jack away. Anywhere but near this killer. Fiery anger spread through him abruptly because of this thought. Ralph whipped his head to face the terrifying freckles of Merridew and spoke at a slightly-too-loud volume.

“Why do you hate me?” Jack’s eyebrow quirked, blades of his piercing blue eyes sharpening themselves into battle. All at once, they softened; and fell. A question he found escaping his lips yet again. The first time, it was nothing more than petty confusion. Now, this question was to live or to die.

“I never hated you, Ralph.”

“What?” Jack’s voice registered in Ralph’s brain, the tone of voice dusting off an old record player. One that hummed a C sharp, and asked about the man with a trumpet. A vulnerable voice that Ralph hadn’t heard in a long time. And Ralph’s weakened query reflected that.

"Yeah. When we were on the island, that’s all I believed. But I couldn’t put that belief to an action.” Jack's eyes looked into Ralph’s with a deep sense of trust. His eyes held spikes of blue, and his pupils the size of a speck of dust. He looked at Ralph as though it were hard to explain, as his fiery red hair blew violently in the wind. Jack almost looked batty in a way, like he was about to throw a tantrum; he stayed still.

“I don’t think I could’ve ever truly hurt you. You were a chap. Mostly, anyways.” At this point, Ralph’s eyes were saucers, pulling a hand away from the bench to bite down on stubby nails. Jack's casual add-on offended Ralph. Offended him so deeply that it gave him a sudden surge of entitlement and emboldened him.

“…Why did you kill Simon?” Before the fair-haired boy could think of what he spat, Ralph’s confidence was quickly replaced with intimidation. Questions seemed to ask themselves internally all at once. Jack tensed, the curtains of his mind blowing wind into thoughts he didn’t want to think about.

“That wasn’t Simon, that was the-”

“You and me both know it was Simon-” Ralph’s voice ran up, and the Naval officer looked at him in confusion. He looked down at his bare feet shyly. Jack’s gaze didn’t falter, not even for a blink. He didn’t respond, so Ralph continued just above a whisper.

“You murdered Simon, Jack. And you played a dirty, dirty trick on Piggy, n’ Roger, he-”

“Shut up,” Jack’s voice dropped aggressively with consonants as he seethed through his teeth, eyes breaking their gaze on Ralph to view the sun.

“The beast was disguised as Simon, Ralph! He was crawling, and foaming from ‘is mouth, I saw it with my bloody own eyes!”

“Can’t you get it through your batty head that the beast isn’t real?! You’re crackers, Jack! That was Simon- and Piggy, you- you-” Ralph couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, and he stopped in defeat.

“All of this talk of me, me, ME! But what about you, Ralph? You were in the circle! And you danced and ate with us, why, you’re just as savage as the next boy! And where were you when Piggy was struck? Still as a stick! Don’t act like a saint, you bloody fool!” Jack’s eyes widened in accusation, lips curving upwards, creeping through of light yellow with pulp stuck between the gaps.

Ralph could feel his face growing hotter by the second; Jack’s smug smile remained as he went quiet. Any sense of direction he had in his argument washed away in panic, fight or flight beginning to bore through his body.

Ralph, shut into silence, mouth tightened, face crinkled, let out a huff of aggressive air. Something inside, low and dark, clawed at his stomach. Nausea rose in his throat, flooding any rebuttal he would blabber out. Jack must’ve seen this because he gently shoved Ralph, rather guided him, to the edge of the bench, making sure he faced the outside of the boat. Ralph made eye contact with the crevices of the ocean, deep shades of blue mirroring his battered and dirtied face. Before he knew it, he was vomiting thick liquid into the blue sea, staining the navy blue with off-white which made a disturbing green that walked away from him. Strewn over the edge of the boat, he continued to expel any contents of his stomach. After two minutes, silence overcame him. Numbness tingled at his fingers, and birds flew by in the distance. Still feeling a hand on his back, Ralph paused and regained composure. He pulled his head up to face Merridew with an uncomfortable and confused expression.

“Why did you kill Simon and Piggy?” The question rolled off his tongue too casually for the fair boy’s liking, and held himself up weakly. Jack pushed off of Ralph once he was done vomiting, his spot returning beside Ralph on the bench. He flushed, ears going pink.

“They were the beast! I’ve told you already, Ralph!” Jack seethed loathingly. Ralph didn’t question this again. Birds cawed from beyond the sky, while other ships passed them eventually. They were getting closer to shore. Only the loud engine consistently growled under them. Jack turned to face Ralph.

“When I know the beast is in someone, I get this sudden surge of emotion… As if I can barely control myself.” This piqued not only Ralph’s interest, but his fear. He failed to respond before Jack started again.

“I feel this… Sudden anger, and it feels white and hot. When you burn your hand… in the oven, you know? I’d say… it’s even hotter than that. And I can’t… I can’t get rid of it, unless I’ve gotten rid of the beast.” Jack’s eyes were wide with this storytelling. Ralph felt familiar terror crawl through his body, settling in the pit of his stomach with as malice. Jack, once again, looked at him with a stare full of nightmares. Deadly wonder danced through Jack’s face, as he racked his brain for any possible words to describe this feeling.

“Do you know what I-”

“You didn’t get rid of a bloody beast, Jack. You just thought you did. And you killed two innocent people in the process!” Ralph sharply cut the voice off, betraying any sense of ‘trust’ this monster gave him. They were not even. They were not the same. Ralph realized.

. . .

“Maybe,” he said hesitantly, “maybe there is a beast.”

The assembly cried out savagely, and Ralph stood up in amazement.

“You, Simon? You believe in this?”

“I don’t know,” said Simon. His heartbeats were choking him. “But…”

“…What I mean is… maybe it’s only us.”

“Nuts!”

That was from Piggy, shocked out of decorum. Simon went on.

“We could be sort of…”

Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind’s essential illness. Inspiration came to him.

“What’s the dirtiest thing there is?”

. . .

Ralph’s eyes snapped over to Jack, reviewing the ugly face of his attempted murder.

“Simon tried to tell us.”

“Tell us what?”

“That the beast was bullocks.”

“Just as much as he was? Why I-”

“Shut up! Will you just listen for once?!” Ralph breathed and shook his head, looking away. He continued.

“…Simon knew what the beast really was.”

“…And just what was it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

“People. Us.”

Jack went silent at this. They were parallel to each other, with the same blank face. The two boys almost looked similar, eyes wide, hair matted, face dirtied, but so different. One was made a hunter, and the other made the hunted.

This time, Ralph didn’t weep. Infact, he refused. All tears had been shed, and a new emotion had begun. He glared at betrayed eyes with pure bitterness.

“You killed him before he could tell us.”

Jack retorted, just as quipped, “And you celebrated his death. With us.”

Ralph looked down at his hands and back at Jack. A thought stabbed his heart: Was Ralph all that different from Jack? What did he do to be a leading man when Simon and Piggy needed him most? What had he ever done for the two younger boys? He just ran. He ran for his sanity, his spirit, and his heart that would continue to beat. He didn’t run to save Simon or Piggy, no, Ralph ran for the selfish dwelling of continuing life. So, how was he any different than Jack?

“You understand exactly what I said earlier. I can tell, Ralph.” Jack taunted Ralph, pulling invisible strings on the other that he wasn’t aware he had; because he knew deep down that Jack was right. He understood the feeling that came to existence and spread like wildfire among the boys, but it would never get to him. He was immune to this because he was a victim. At least, what he believed to be true.

When he wasn’t given a response, Jack scoffed and turned away from the boy, and suddenly gasped.

“My, we’ve made it!” Ralph’s ears perked to this, and he looked over to the harbor of people. No familiar faces returned. Heaps of reporters, tourists, and residents bore shocked faces with their flashing cameras and notebooks ready at set, and they began to chant. Gasps, shouts, and raves fled through the air. Through this muddle of screaming, all Ralph could hear, and was clear as day…

“Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.”

…Ralph choked, and Jack looked over at this. While Ralph coughed with a flustered face, Jack stared through the fair-haired boy. He had the same buggy look on his face, eyes that peered into his soul and saw Ralph for who he really was. He seemed to understand why Ralph began to choke, but instead of initiation, he spoke above a whisper before he stood up to leave the boat.

“Just a game.”

At that moment, Ralph and Jack realized that the beast was not a creature out to claw them to death on the island. It was a tumorous imagination that thrived inside the human mind, one that infected theirs.

[freakishlyundaunted]

Send Simon HCS so I can draw them plEEASE 🙏