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Lord Of The Flies
The war was over, but not without casualties. Numerous ships, planes and
factories had been bombed with regular bombs, and London was totally
destroyed - by a single atomic bomb. Only derelicts lived there now, not
knowing of the harmful radiation that surrounded what once was the great
Slowly though, things were getting back to normal, shops began opening, and
the war started to shift to the back of peopleÕs minds. Life was becoming
more normal, but the memory of the war was still there, and always would be.
Unfortunately, my memories of our time on the island would never shift to
the back of my mind - I would never forget what the war meant to me. I might
not have been killed, though I wish I had been, I might not have lost my
home or seen London go up a huge mushroom cloud of bright red light, but I
had lived with people that hardly deserve that title, people that became
animals, people that were worse than animals - murderers. And I myself, was
one of them.
I was slowly getting better, but I never got through a night without hearing
the chant and SimonÕs furtive screams as we jabbed, attacked and mauled him,
without seeing PiggyÕs fat body flying into the air and then crashing down
on the rocks. I had never recovered from those experiences and at no time
had a job. I live in a small, damp apartment above a coin laundry. The
greatest pleasure I had in life was feeding the pigeons in the park. I would
get what stale bread I could from the bakery to feed the birds. They would
rush at me when they saw me and fight for the small scraps of bread before
it had even hit the ground. They were animals, but not like Jack and the
others, they were kind animals, they never hurt anyone - they went about
their lives regardless of us. Many times I wished that I too could be a
pigeon. I wanted to lead the simple life that they did, I wanted to forget
what had happened, I wanted to escape the plaguing memories.
It was Tuesday morning and I was feeding pigeons in the park. They were
fighting for the pathetic scraps of stale bread I threw on the ground as
usual, looking at me begging me with their eyes for more. I emptied the
crumbs out of the plastic bag and the birds broke into a frenzy. As I stood
to leave, someone on the other side of the pond caught my eye. He was tall,
red headed and wearing an expensive suit with a woolen overcoat. He walked
briskly, taking no attention of the natural beauty around him. It took me
only half a second to recognise him. His was a face I would never forget. I
could not believe my eyes; I broke into a run, following him onto the
street, as he stepped into a long black car, and as he did so, he turned to
me and I saw his eyes - his evil, evil eyes. I fell to the ground. I felt
sick in the stomach as I saw PiggyÕs body fly into the air, this time with
more detail than ever before. I collapsed.
I woke hearing the chant "Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in. Kill
the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in." It was a painful sleep, even more so
than the oneÕs I had every night. I could see the shocking memories again
and again, each time more realistic than the last. I could clearly hear
SimonÕs voice over the other yelling and chanting, frantically trying to
explain about the ÔbeastÕ on the hill. If only I could have heard him then.
The sound was clear, but my vision was a frenzy. I could see what seemed
like hundreds of sticks poking and jabbing at every part of SimonÕs thin
body, and I saw his face - I could see the pain and I could see that he
didnÕt understand why we were doing this to him, and I saw eventually, him
give up and collapse on the beach, a small trickle of blood flowing from his
I also saw Piggy shouting at Roger about his ÔspecsÕ. I saw Roger lean
forward on the lever under the rock, and heard, with frightening realism,
the creaking of the rock as it lurched towards Piggy and myself. The rock
fell and hit Piggy square, throwing him upwards into the sky, and as he hit
the hard rocks by the ocean, I heard his bones crack, before he slid slowly
into the ocean without a trace.
I had a rotten taste in my mouth and felt sick in the stomach. I was so
angry I was shaking, moving almost screaming. I felt terrible and there was
nothing that I could do to make me feel better - no pills I could use, no
action I could take to make me feel better. I was shaking with the painful
memories that whirled around my head and wouldnÕt go away. The pain was so
intense. I had to do something about it. I slowly pulled myself from the
pathetic garden bed where I had been left and walked back towards my park
bench. The shocking memories where still plaguing my thoughts as I lay down
on the bench and fell into a painful sleep again.
I woke the next morning to the sound of the greedy pigeons. They pecked
around me, waiting for me to give them bread. I lay there, just watching
them and again wishing that I too could be with them, leading their simple
life. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tall, striding figure
making his way across the park on the other side of the park. I pushed the
sickly pain in my stomach down and broke into a jog behind him.
I caught up to him and tapped him on the back. He turned around with speed
and impatience, and as he saw my face, a wicked smile spread across his ugly
"Hello again." He said with a small laugh, the smile remaining on his face.
"Fancy seeing you here. I take it your doing nothing with your life?" I was
amazed at the way he seemed to feel nothing about what we went through on
the island. I hated him.
"DonÕt you remember? DonÕt you care? YouÕre a murderer and you can smile!" I
shouted without thought.
"So weÕre still living in the past are we? Forget it. We were just kids. It
was just a game."
"A game!" I shouted "It was real life! They were real people you killed! It
wasnÕt a game"
"Look, what are you trying to achieve," he asked impatiently "we were just
kids. ItÕs all past. Forget it and get on with your life."
"I wish I could" I muttered, unintentionally showing Jack my emotion.
"Poor little boy. Simon had it coming - he was weird, and Piggy. . ." Jack
said sarcastically.
"YOU . . . !" I screamed and lunged at him with more hatred than I have ever
felt before in my life. He fell to the ground and we fought like children
wrestling. Eventually he threw me off and stood up, brushing the dirt off
his coat, but I lunged at him again, this time thrusting my knee into his
stomach. He doubled over with the pain and I again used my knee and rammed
it into his face. My knee was covered with blood from his nose and mouth,
and I continued to kick, punch and generally break anything I saw. He was
soon on the ground but I couldnÕt stop. He lay motionless, I noticed, as I
stopped for a moment, and I remember thinking that I should leave him. But I
couldnÕt. I thought that I couldnÕt live with myself if I passed up this
opportunity, so I pulled a short plank off wood from a nearby bin surround
and started belting his head with it. Continually, monotonously beating his
head with the piece of wood. Blood started to pour out, but I couldnÕt stop
myself . I had to kill him, as much as I didnÕt want to, but I was so mad,
so angry, out of control. I donÕt know how long it took, but eventually, I
knew he was dead. I walked slowly home. This time my thoughts were free of
the painful memories of what happened on the island, but instead, al I could
se was his bleeding head lying in the dirt, dribbling blood onto his
expensive suit.
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