𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

"To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed," recites Jason Dean as he slowly creeps to my pillow. He had scarcely entered through my bedroom window, sparking a feeling to plague my gut.

Sitting up as quickly as I do, it's yet to hit me that I could even be awake. JD is crouched so close to me in the darkness, and I have an inkling he can hear my heart screaming to escape my chest, like a hammer on cloth. With heaving breaths, I stare at him with a horrified expression, unable to exclaim a word.

"I like it!" His sihloette turns up at me from a scripture. Blue light from my window cast shadows under his eyes. Pools of his once pure soul that are dripping out of the open windows, and no one is there to shut them.

"It's got that, uh- what a cruel world so let's toss our self in the abyss, type a' ambience, huh?" Even though his face isn't practically visible in this dim lighting, the smirk manages to stay audibly present in his patronizing words. My legs bend up and away from him in a spure of nervous energy.

Apon noticing me cowering into the deepest corner of my bed frame, the boy sighs through a wicked chuckle, and he gives the book he grasps some hard pats.

"C'mon!" exclaims JD in strange enthusiasm. With a dry mouth, I subtly push closer in the corner, creaking my mattress. "It's Heather's copy of Moby Dick." He waves it in the air.

Exchanging a few hard glances between me and the novel, he suddenly asks, "Why don't you give it a try, huh?"

Without a fortunate hint of warning, he crawls up onto my bed. "Underline something, Ronnie."

The words were like an overdosage of a whiplash, and I suddenly rippled into the anguish of rage amongst my blurred vision of red.

"Get off of my bed, you fucking psycho!" It delivered like a snarl as I hoisted myself out of the corner and slammed my hand onto his stupid book with the fluidity of water.

"How could you kill them?" My words shot out like an arrow. JD laughs modestly.

"It was simple really. I can demonstrate it for you if you'd like, though I do find it quite concerning that you don't know how to shoot a gun by this point." His voice was dripping with tart sarcasm.

A tightness swelled in my jaw. He bowed his head to hide a laugh -- that stupid laughter ringing in the quiet room. I look at him long and hard. He takes my staring as an invitation.

"Penny for your thoughts, babe?"

"Do you actually think you're a rebel?" I hiss incredulously, remarking his little acts from the past. Squinting my eyes, I see him bite back a smirk.

"You're not a rebel, you're just fucking psychotic! That's what you are, Jason Dean." Despite being in a quiet home with sleeping parents, I don't hesitate on loudly swearing.

He finally answers with an unbothered shrug. "You say tomato, I say tomahto..." JD smiles with content. In anger, I exhale sharply to keep from shouting out. Somehow my fear of him melted away in a snap, and I want him out.

"Hold up-" he snatches the book harshly, crinkling the pages as he jerks it up to his face for tedious inspection. I roll my eyes and bite my own cheek.

"Eskimo," he reads outloud like the word was the most astonishing thing he'd read. I watch him frantically tap in the word with his finger. He snaps his gaze back up to me with crazed eyes and a stretching grin.

"That's one word..." Sanity is essential in humans. While there isn't a need to question if he retains any more, Jason has a way of twisting my brain like he wrung out a sopping cloth before dropping it back into my head.

"I love it!" he says with excitement. Gulping, I try to place more distance between us as he continues on the tangent. "I would usually go for the whole sentance myself, but this is perfecto."

As he continues to stare lasers at the same page intently, I begin to look around my room for some answers that would get me out of this situation. If I run, he'll surely catch up.

"Eskimo, it's so- you know, uhhh..." he trails off with words at the tip of a tongue -- his hand moves in circles to urge his own speech along.

"Sooo... mysterious!" He snaps his fingers at me, satisfied with the proclamation. My face sinks further into a crest-fallen expression. God, he's really losing it. As if him trying to murder everyone who looked at me wrong couldn't already prove that.

"Eeeesssskiimoooo..." slurred Jason under his breath as he dragged the tip of his pen under the single word to underline it. My head shakes in downcast.

"You've misplaced your mind," I say to him softly. "But you lost it a long time ago." As he comes to a finish with the spontaneous underlining, he peers up me with an expression that can only mean one thing, and I'm not a stranger to it.

"Time to write the suicide note." Gripping my wrist, he yanks me out of bed before I can even protest. No, no, no, no, no! My feet drag as I fight against his force, but he's just much stronger than me.

"We're not killing anyone!" I screech, trying to escape his clutches. The bedroom door swings open, and he tugs me out into the kitchen. A groan releases through my lips as he frantically rummages through cabinets and drawers.

"JD, you are not even listening to me!"

Powering over to the knife block, he unsheathes a large butcher's knife with a piercing, metallic noise that attacks my ears. He whips around suddenly, making me jump back.

"Nag nag nag nag nag!" The words were delivered with a fury that was only present in him when something horrible would go down, and it frightens me. JD's eyes were wide, and I can best describe it as a darkness that fills them to the rim. Moonlight pours on his face evenly in this room, making his paled features clear as day. Only now they aren't so charming.

"That- That knife is filthy!" I stammer in response, scraping to find a way to talk him down. The corners of his mouth tug up even higher, but his eyebrows furrow in contrast like I'm the insane one.

"Whatdaya think I was gonna do with it?" He roared angrily, waving it around like some child's toy. "Take out her tonsils?? Hell fucking no!"

Sending back a challenging scoff, my cross my arms over my chest, baiting him. "Excuse me, I think I know Heather a little bit better than you do," I say hypercritically.

"If she was gonna slit her wrist, the knife would be spotless." Maybe this tactic of talking him down would make him give up and hand over the power. I should know better that he doesn't give in so easily when called out for idiocy.

Gritting his teeth with overbearing pressure, he tugs the sleeves of his trench coat over his own hands, and grips the blade through the fabric to rub away at the supposed grime which litters it. With every sweep, the metallic sounds pierced the air.

"How's this??" He growled, lunging at me with the knife too aggressivly for anyone's damn comfort. Holding the weapon up in front of me, Jason shook slightly.

"Can you see yer fucking reflection in the thing??" Sure enough on the surface of the blade, my mirror twin stares back at me with a terrified expression.

"Tomorrow, someone else is just gonna move in her place..." I grumble knowingly under my breath, shaking my head in a panic. The reflection lifts her chin like she deceived herself. "That person could be me..." My tone goes breathy at the realization.

JD's scowl relaxes just barely as he tsk-tsked me. My cockiness returned, thinking I could still outsmart him. "Ha!" I laugh, veering to the left of the counter. His brow arches in question.

"There's only one of us that can do Heather's hand writing, and if you think that I will forge another suicide note, you're wrong!"

His head cocks to the side, anything but skeptical. "You don't get it, do you?" He points the knife at me accusingly. My posture straighens up at the threatening gesture.

"Society nods its head to any harm the American teenager could think to bring upon themselves!" A few more threatening strides in my direction makes me grip the marble counter top behind me. Whether or not his drive is to stab or hit me, my mind forces me to stay still.

"Nobody's gonna care about exact handwriting, Ronnie!" JD snatches a piece of paper from a notepad that's meant for writing groceries down. Forcing his pen into my hand, he clutches his own around mine with painful force as he guides what my hand sloppily writes. A grimace stretches on my face when I try to force my hand away.

"Life.... sucks!" Letting me go, he slams the pen down and displays the two second, two worded suicide note to me. It's not an exaggeration when I say that the hand writing resulted to look like a child's own. Frowning, I look back up at him and rub my brooch in contemplation.

"It's perfecto!" He chuckles, fanning himself with the small piece of paper. Jason Dean retrieves the knife once more and he turns to speed back down the hall. Chasing after him, the walls begin to morph and contort around me, constricting my air. Suddenly, we were no longer in my own house, but in Heather Duke's.

"I got a meaningfully marked up Moby Dick..." He howled as he practically glides down the hall that seemed to stretch further and further as we moved with Heather's door at the very end. I struggle to keep up with him.

"I got an emotional note- what else does a suicide need, eh?"

Words don't leave my lips. In fact, I've fully lost the ability to scream, and I can only whisper which renders me useless to help my frenemy who is asleep in bed. To add salt to the wound, my ability to run has been snatched away and I can only walk in slow motion. It feels like i'm trying to walk through silly putty while Jason storms down the hallway at a concerning speed.

"Now if you'll excuse me-" he calls back while tears stream down my cheeks. My mouth can't even open now, no matter how hard I try to pry my lips apart. With the feeling of trying to walk through quicksand, panic settles in me. In the blink of an eye, JD opens the door to a sleeping Heather Duke. With one last devious grin in my direction, the slam of the door suddenly ricocheted through the hall like the panging of Thor's hammer. He damned the solitude of life. 

I'm still practically glued in the same place. Like- the universe itself is holding my limbs.

No! My mind starts screaming, but I can only stand at the beginning of the hall, helpless with the situation going on.

A rumbling quakes around the house as the walls crumble away into some abyss. The floor gave away and I go plummeting into a rabbit hole like Alice. Debris free falls with me, colors of carpet, wall paint, flower pots, and photo frames dash around... The colors go streaky and morph into the structure of a church. I land myself into some funeral with mist hovering above its flooring.

Heather Duke lays in the casket. The sight of her corpse came quicker than a slap to the face. An inhumane shriek tore up my throat, but goes unnoticed by every guest there and rebounded back to me.

"Eskimo." The preacher reads calmly. "Heather Duke underlined a lot of things in this copy of Moby Dick."

Horror stricken, I smothered a keening cry with my fingers plastered to my trembling lips, disoriented with the terror and grief of seeing Heather's fate.

"But I believe that the word 'Eskimo' underlined all by itself is the key to understanding Heather's pain."

I walk backwards down the aisle, somehow invisible to everyone there, backing my way up to the Holy water. My glassy eyes were as abysmal as a corpse's own, and swiftly glossed over the stoic crowd of people to take in their frozen statures.

"On the surface, Heather Duke was a shining light that we all knew her to be." The preacher was stone-faced, staring in the atmosphere, seeing nothing.

"But her soul was in Antarctica." My face scrunches up in confusion at the statement.

"Freezing with the knowledge of the way fellow teenagers can be cruel. The way that parents can be unresponsive."

Chills came over me as the temperature drops several degrees. Even the surface of my eyes go cold.

"And as Heather wrote so eloquently in her suicide note.... The way that life can suck!" He screamed the last word. "We'll always miss your words, little Eskimo," he said solemnly.

I walk to the alter that displays the Holy water, and lean against it to rest my head on my hand and buzz my lips, hoping it would bring feeling back to my face.

"Let's just hope she is rubbing noses with Jesus!" The preacher raises his hands in the air.

"Is this turn out weak, or what?" Heather Chandler hisses next to me. I jump at her appearance that just popped up out of nowhere.

"I had at least 70 more people at my funeral!" The uppish girl snarkily bit the tip of her finger with a sly curl of the mouth. I feel my sanity peeling away from the walls of my cerebrum. It will be stripped clean till I'm nothing but a true reflection of what I am - a hollow skeleton. A structure of decaying bone.

Suddenly, Heather's pretty expression contorted into a twisted, ugly grimace as she doubled over and dry-heaved. I jerked back in fear and repulsion at the obscene choking noises. Her back disturbingly arched like a cat, and Heather's hands clapped over her own mouth. A few boisterous coughs and shoulder bobs later, she made a sound of content and stood straight once again with a stone-statue posture.

That's when I saw it. The blue trails slithering from red painted lips. It coated her chin and trickled down her neck like vibrant ribbons. My hands twitched as frightened birds would, while Heather only made a casual face of disgust.

"God!" She hacked and dragged her long fingers around the outline of her lips, smudging the inky blue substance and lipstick.

"I'm gonna be coughing up drain cleaner for eternity!" The blue liquid stained her hands. Heather grunted in half-hearted annoyance and smeared her hands over the alter to rid the mess from her pale skin. I took an unsteady gulp.

"... Heather?" I breathed in bewildered shock, unsure of her spontaneous cameo. Her whole frame smoothly turns to my direction, emotionless. I can only stare at her numbly. She really does look like a ghost-corpse something.

"God, Veronica. The afterlife is so boring!" Heather Chandler exclaims dreadfully. My breath gets caught in my throat with renewed agony of seeing the long-dead girl as she continues ranting on in her usual way that I hadn't heard in so long.

"If I have to sing Kumbaya one more time-"

"What are you doing here...?" I cut her off breathily. Her expression changes drastically, catching me off guard.

"Veronica, can you hear those voices?"

Giving her a perplexed expression, I adjust my stance. "I'm sorry?" It was meant as a cue to have her repeat the words.

"The voices." She blurts, monotoned -- but her voice is turned deeper and raspier, like a male's voice... That voice belongs to Ralph.

"Veronica, wake up." Heather says with the chief's authoritative sound.

...

I shot awake with a rejuvenating gasp as my chest lurched. Disoriented and afraid, the realization of hell slammed back into me and dismantled my temporary relief.

Ralph is sitting next to me with worry etched on his face. That's right, I'm in the shelter. Before I can say anything out loud or calm my erratic heartbeat, he presses a finger to my lips and his own, indicating that I had to hush.  Nodding so that he could move his hands, I immediately speak in a whisper.

"So, it was a dream?" I ask hopefully without context. Ralph doesn't know how to answer, but he furrows his eyebrows. It was a dream. Just a very realistic one.

"What?" He whispers back, leaning his ear closer to me. However, he quickly disregards it, and points to a wall of the shelter.

"Can you hear that? Someone is walking and whispering outside."

I cobble together a sense of calmness to slump back, but remain alert with strained ears. Piggy whimpering off the side pulls my attention only for a moment, but sure enough, foot steps were clear as day. They travel on the roof of a fallen tree that this shelter is built off of. My blood momentarily runs cold. Anticipated seconds crawl by as we anxiously wait for something to happen. That came sooner than expected.

"Now!" A voice that belongs to Jack orders.

"AHHHH!" The legion of hunters that severely out number us now crash down into the shelter, tearing the walls apart and wreaking havoc. I can't even gain a normal thought as flashes of flesh and war paint dart across my vision.

"Get the knife! Get the knife!" Someone demands in a brassy voice -- it's gotta be Tony. Anger boils in my gut at the way he so quickly switched up on us.

"I got the knife!" One finally states over the shouting. The hunters make a break for it, sprinting swiftly down the beach while whooping and hollaring, punching their fists into the air. Ralph and I rise up and follow them by only walking for a few steps, then going at a complete stop.

"Bring that back! You have no right!" Ralph strains to make his voice deliver after having just woken up. Someone's a bit too reliant on civility... I would agree, but come on, you're relying on Jack's group to be civil. I stare at him helplessly as he continues on.

"Come back! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Breathing heavily, he finally stops when he both hear faint sobs. I jerk at the noise and see Piggy sitting in the wrecked foliage. Pressing my lips together, I walk over and assume that he was just a bit shaken up from Jack's little surprise crash party, but then I realize that he's holding his glasses.

"Piggy?" I ask softly. "What's the matter?" His shoulders bob heavily with every sob that wracks his chest.

Taking a deep breath, I repeat myself. 

"Piggy, I asked what's wrong-" my stride halts when I see a crack in the left lens of his glasses that traveled like a spiderweb. 

"Oh no..." I mumble, walking over a lot calmer. His cries are heartbreaking.

"They broke my glasses..." He heaves, coughing a few times. An emotion takes its hold on me; guilt, like it squeezed my throat. Pursing my lips, I awkwardly walk over to the the trembling boy and gently take his glasses for inspection.

Unfortunately, the whole lens is shattered beyond repair, not like any crack in general could be repaired on this island.

"It's not so bad," I say unconvincingly, but still sensitive. With a thumb, I carefully brush away some small fragments of glass that had popped up. Another sob hits me in the face with its volume, and in return I rub his shoulder comfortingly.

"Here." Readjusting my position, I place his glasses onto his face so he could start on being accustomed to this change, at least for a little while until we get rescued.

"Gosh," he moans in reasonable self pity. "Everything doesn't look right!" Ralph walks over at my side, and I watch Piggy try to close his left eye to get a normal view of the world.

"I know, Piggy." I sigh and pull him into some awkward side hug. With puffy red eyes, he stands up abruptly and walks to another area of the beach. Ralph is the first to break the silence.

"Yeah, this is getting out of hand."

♕︎♕︎♕︎

You know those moments that make you think, fuck! It's another one of those moments. Our few new shelters that we built with the wreckage of the storm was abolished by Jack's tribe after they ambushed us last night. Making things worse, they took our knife. Poor Piggy's glasses broke because of their idiocy.

"There's no point in trying to scrounge the materials," Ralph refers to what's left of our huts. Sniffling, I reluctantly nod in agreement. "Then what do we do?"

The chief pauses to review our groups antics. Piggy's roasting a banana over a smouldering pile of ashes while Eric plays tic tac toe in the sand with Henry. Turning our gazes, we eye a few little ones who are prodding Pablo in his sleep to watch him stir.

"Well, there isn't much of a point in having them all move around right now," sighs Ralph. Everyone that remains in our group seemed drained indeed, and trying to make them get up for chores wouldn't help our situation.

"In that case, I'll just go with Simon to collect wood and other things we need for later on," I answer with a hum. Light shines in Ralph's eyes, making him grimace through a helpless smile.

"Thanks, Veronica." Serving a small smile back, I nod modestly. Out of nowhere, Ralph breaks into a groan of annoyance. Not much longer and I can already hear what made him switch his mood so fast.

Wild whoops and hollers are heard, approaching our camp at a quick rate. This grabs Piggy's attention, making him quickly jolt up. We all turn our heads as the painted boys slide across the sand, throwing gold clouds to sting our eyes. They laugh as Jack screams while pushing his spear in the air, making me roll my eyes. Roaring in a buzz of craziness and excitement, the hunters finally silence when Ralph speaks.

"Okay, rambo, you made your point!" He yells bitterly. "Now what do you want?" My feet dug into the sand in discomfort when Roger eyes me from a distance with a predatorial grin.

"We killed a pig today!" Jack proudly announces with a sneer. I stare at him, hoping he would catch my look. "We're gonna have a feast! You can all come eat with us, if you want."

To my grace, he finally eyes me back, and I can see the corner of his mouth turn up into a playful smirk. In that split moment, he quickly hisses under his breath to Tony and Rapper who stood around him. 

"Go on, now!"

The two boys catch on and both exclaim in unison, "The chief has spoken!" They thrust their spears into the air. Satisfied, Jack sets back on his weight and throws a cocky expression at our cheif's direction. Ralph and I exchange amused looks about the little staged act we just witnessed, and I even repress a laugh. To my dismay, Jack doesn't even notice our reactions.

"See ya tonight, cadets!" Jack chuckles. Before sprinting off, he turns to me and talks a bit more subtly. 

"Hope I see your face," he winks.

And just like that, they sprint right passed us while cheering for no apparent reason. Stunned, I don't turn to watch them go. Ralph audibly scoffs and mutters insults under his breath.

"So..." I start slowly. "Are we going, or what?" Of course, he has to stop and think about it for a moment, cuz Jack is such a delight to be around nowadays. Thinking about the name tag, I reach up to unhook it from my blazer and stuff it in my pocket.

"Yes, we're going," Ralph finally confirms. Everyone else looked a bit shocked that he actually agreed to it. 

"You all need to eat something substantial."

He takes a glance at the ocean like he half expects for a boat to appear out of thin air. 

"Wait- so we're actually going?" Eric jumps up curiously. Relentlessly, Ralph nods in silence, impassively calm for everything.

I don't know how I even feel about going after the thing they all pulled last night. But I have to admit that Ralph's right. We all need something besides fruit and the occasional fish.

"Well, should I go tell Simon?" I ask, sitting into my hip. Ralph answers quicker this time. "Yeah, go find him. He's gonna be somewhere out in those woods."

From what I can take, Jack's invitation seems like more of a tactic to hook in what's left of our tribe rather than offering as a kind gesture. Then again, formalities can't be exchanged without him and his hunters shouting like banshees. If we try to bring up the knife, Jack will pull the card about being decent enough to let us have food. Trying to retaliate will get Roger riled up, and nothing good will come out of that. This means that Jack's little tactic will be used as his excuse for having nothing on or against him.

Walking to the treeline, the only sounds audible were the songs of birds and the wind pestering through the highest treetops. On this venture to get Simon, I wasn't expecting to come across Sam by the crystal clear river. As soon as I catch his eye, the boy jerks up to an upright stance. I as well pause like a deer in headlights but gain the courage to walk over to him.

"Hey," I greet the painted twin. Sam shifts on his weight in awkwardness. "Hi," he flatly answers, eyeing me with caution.

"How are you?"

"Good." Sam's expression isn't near readable for me to gain an impression of his thought process. I pause to see if he would take the motive to speak on his own, but he didn't.

"So, are you going to Jack's feast, or whatever?"

"Obviously," he snaps and calms down before asking, "Is Eric going?"

This question isn't impactful enough to send me spiraling, but it's enough to catch me off guard. "Uhm- yeah." I answer with a nod. "All of us are."

With the sun beating down on us in the growing heat, it makes the situation feel all the more stiff. Sniffling harshly, I shove a piece of hair behind my ear and divert my gaze, hoping the action would offer me some respite. The mere thought of the feast felt all the more repulsive with this forced conversation. 

"If you don't mind me asking..." I start slowly. "What happened with you and Eric?"

Sam's face twitches a bit, probably in surprise by the question. "I don't know," he admits. "But he's mad at me still."

I wonder why he'd be mad after you beat him till the breath was knocked out of this lungs...

"You guys clearly aren't happy with it, though," I point out. Sam looks to the ground unhappily. 

"You both try to act like you don't care, but it's just creating a bigger divide."

He takes my words like they have an empty meaning. 

"Well, we're on different sides, no?" Sam cocks his head bitterly.

Exhaling sharply, I yank out Jack's name tag. 

"This isn't about sides!" 

Sam pauses and looks at the area around us before finally resting his uncertain eyes on me.

"This whole thing with two opposing sides is ridiculous. It's bullshit! Jack just wants to start issues, and he's not helping us in any way."

I pause critically to give him a long hard look. 

"Don't you miss Eric?"

He visibly stiffens up at that question. After clearing his throat, he stammers out an answer. 

"Roger said I have nothing to apologize to Eric for."

"You didn't answer my question," I cut in bluntly. 

"Do you miss Eric?"

He pauses. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. I doubt he knows the full extent of the reasons for him and his brother's divide.

"It feels weird not seeing someone who has the same face all the time anymore." He shrugged sheepishly. As quickly as I thought I managed to knock his wall down, another door slammed in my face.

"What's it to you?" He bites sharply. "Why are you sticking your nose in my business? Don't you have some chores to get to?"

I stand against his little insults with ease.

"What else did Roger say to you about Eric?"

"What does that matter!?"

"What has he said?" I repeat with the same moderate tone. I can see his mental struggle. He was expecting me to yell back, or argue, and yet I presented myself calmly.

"It doesn't matter what Roger says." He grumbles. "He's right. Me and Eric aren't brothers. He's just a dork."

The painted twin crosses his arms and sharply turns away. A waterfall of despair makes me exhale. God damn it. There's only one more thing that I can think to bring up.

"Don't you want to go home?" That last word visibly makes him perk up, and I can see the familiar twelve year old again past the red and black paint. Even I get a bit hopeful. As if he thought the idea would make him get ahead of himself, Sam retracts those few glimmers of emotions.

"Jack says we aren't getting rescued."

My shoulders droop. Right when I thought I had him thinking for a moment. 

"Who cares about what Jack says?" I comment. At this point, Sam was growing restless with what he thinks is a pointless conversation, and begins to veer off in the direction of his camp.

"Don't take everything I say with a grain of salt just because I'm not on your side," I state evenly as he walks away. Sam stops for a moment, but immediately blows me off.

"Some of the hunters are out," He mutters with his back turned to me. 

"Keep an eye out so you don't get caught up with them." And that's the last thing he says.

Well, that was a bust. Submerging myself into the bushes, I let my thoughts drift some, only cut off by the hunting chant. A stench wafts in the air, and I stupidly go in its direction. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I stop suddenly.

Sickness unfurls in my gut when I get a view of death -- a nightmare enhancing element that's been pinnacled in the center of the clearing. What... The... Fuck. A rotting pig's head that rests on a stick sharpened at both ends stands before me in all its bloody glory.

Swarms of big, black flies cloud the air around the carcass, attracted by the radiating stench that makes me gag, earning it the name, The Lord of the Flies... To think that Jack could so thoughtlessly dig into a pigs flesh with a blade to take its head, and pick it up like it was nothing -- it's so gross. Keeping my distance from the thing, I craned my neck to look for any extra wounds in the eyes or skull.

There's nothing else, but a pink tongue hangs out of his mouth as its jaw was stretched down from gravity.

Chills cover me when I notice a steady stream of blood pouring from the fresh cavity, trickling down the stick. The dry ground soaks up the red liquid thirstily. The stench coated my lungs and nose like wet paint that wouldn't clear up.

"Veronica?" Simon approaches me slowly with a gleaming glowstick that Ralph had taken from the plane in his hand. Pale faced, he looks just as shaken as I am. Wordlessly, I point to the Lord of the Flies.

The gore was like a sickness of mankind. Nature doesn't just normally put an animal's head on a pike like a virulent ritual. Mother nature holds no vicious intent to cause such malevolent harm. Only man. Clumps of flesh spilled from the cavity that gaped open to the atmosphere, hanging out like dripping tar that was starting to harden.

"I watched the hunters put it there," Simon shakily explained. "Jack looked like he enjoyed taking its head, though."

That's so fucking weird. I half expected the head to start talking, or to jump at us. The Lord of the Flies grins at me like he was aware of our chaos and divide -- How our system was destructed due the the evil of mankind.

"Apparently it's for the 'monster' that everyone's talking about." Simon speaks up.

My face twists up in confusion and I look to the boy. 

"You mean like some sort of offering?" I ask, blown away by the thought. He only nods. Twitching my nose in disdain, I yank my shirt to cover my nose, half shielding it from the smell of rot attacking my olfactory nerves. Jack is vile for this.

"The monster thing is getting out of hand," my voice delivers muffled. "It's making them do crazy shit." Simon trots the last few feet next to me. Gently taking my wrist, he pulls me back away from the head. Despite how much it shocks me, it's pretty damn hard to take my eyes off of it.

"For the record," Simon starts. "This may not be the only abnormal thing they do until we get rescued."

It's only gonna escalate. The worst part is that Jack's group is gaining an upper hand. Their group is stronger -- most of the older boys are physically built pretty much evenly -- but we don't even have that many on our side. They're the only ones who can hunt, they have all of the knives, and this feast thing is likely gonna pull the little ones away.

"Since we're on the topic of Jack," I roll my eyes and strain the next words. 

"They're having a feast. It's tonight after sundown and our group is invited." Talking about food, I start leading us away from the smelly clearing.

"Oh!" Simon chirps in surprise, his eyebrows raised. 

"That's... certainly interesting," he smiles kindly. I don't know how he can always be so nice. I don't judge him for it -- I only wish I could be that good.

"What are they having?" He asks out of curiosity. Besides the obvious main meal, I scrape to think of anything else they'd probably have at a feast.

"Fruit, pig, of course... and hopefully fish. A fish is a lot easier to thoroughly cook than an entire boar." I point out matter of factly. Simon hums in agreement.

"Hosting a feast... That's good for Jack." The small praise for Jack that Simon showed made me a bit more envious. He saw good in it, while my first thought was that the whole thing is a tactic. I mean, I still think it is, but come on.

"I guess," my shoulders bob, trying to hide the bitterness in my tone. It's easy to get aggy with the mention of Jack now. I thought we somewhat healed the strain, but after he stole our knife, it feels like the bond was once again shattered and it hurts.

"So, are you heading back to the beach with me?" I turn to Simon. "The sun will be setting pretty soon..." 

We start to take notice of the herbal tea hues of the sky.

"Oh, I'll meet you at the feast," Simon insists. "I want to go explore that cave where they saw a monster," he waves the glowstick in the general direction. Furrowing my eyebrows, I tilt my head softly in question.

"Is that such a good idea?" The words visibly make him question himself for a moment, and I don't make any move to rush that thought process, but a buzzing in my ear begins to pester at me. Not like the buzz of a fly or insect -- it's hard to explain. It's more of a sensation than anything.

"I mean, if I can find out what it is, they don't have to be scared anymore!" He explains enthusiastically, a bright smile floats across his face. That buzz grew more prominent, making me blurt more words without actually thinking about them.

"Need me to come with you?"

"No, that's alright!" My heart sinks in an unexplained way, but I blow the feeling off as hunger pains. However, the sensation wasn't going to give up so easily on my mind.

"Are you sure?" I begin to shift uncomfortably. Simon frowns at me with the interrogation. "Yes. It will be okay," he assures confidently. "I have a glowstick."

He's really putting all bets of safety on that chemical filled tube. Whatever it is I feel, I settle on the idea of paranoia. Putting on a mask of confidence, I smile softly and nod.

"If you say so, Simon," I pat him on the shoulder. Just like trying to shove a boogie board under the surface of water, that feeling bounces up to smack me in the chin.

"Have fun," I wave the boy off. Giving me a thumbs up, he disappears into the bush and vanishes in the green foliage. I manage to hold a smile until he disappears. A hand oddly seemed to tighten around my heart, squeezing my chest. Gosh, I need to cool down a get a drink of water.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

The recent nightmare concerning a warped figment of my past was still evident in the back of my head, throbbing like a tumor. I've tried so hard to flush away the scars of "love" from Jason Dean, to keep him from slithering into my head, time and time again. It's useless, because no matter how much I try to scrub him from my immediate consciousness, the remnants will always stain my head and heart. I walk slowly still, my feet coming away from the ground coated in sand.

The idea of love has been tainted, dangerously potent by JD's untrue words and malicious attempts at manipulation. I'll break those memories, I promise myself. I'll break them even if it breaks me.

Colors of pink of purple seep into the sky to pop in the marigold of sunlight. Cottony clouds dance above my head, and grow even more lovely as they approach the horizon. Like a moth attracted to a lamp, I travel across the stretch of white sand towards the sea, gazing in astonishment at the beauty. My feet dig into the moist shore while I aimlessly move. On cue, the tide creeps up excitedly to engulf my ankles with white foam before retreating back on second thought.

"Gorgeous, huh?" Ralph muses at my side. Blush developes on my cheek out of some sort of embarrassment, I'm not sure why.

"It sure is." We stand together in peace, soaking up the temporary solace before venturing to the feast. A grumble erupts in my stomach, whining that we leave sooner for food. Cursing myself silently, the grumble shuts up.

"So, where is Simon?" Ralph questions out of the blue. I roll my head back for a moment to muster up the will to explain the situation. 

"He wants to go explore that cave," I sigh in the explanation. "To show the boys that there's no monster, but he's gonna meet us at dinner."

Ralph nods in approval for Simon's idea, though I can't seem to get around the fact strangely. Matching my progressively darkening mood, the sun sets it all in as she descends over the horizon, seemingly taking a dip into the ocean's depths.

"How are things with you and Jack?"

The question which I wasn't prepared for throws me off guard. Blinking, I sputter out an answer. 

"I don't know."

Ralph sympathizes with an apologetic look. I part my hair to the side and hum in thought as the sun dips the rest of the way down. 

"So," I chip. "Are we ready to head over?"

He rocks back and forth on his feet. 

"Yes." The chief answers briefly. "Let's maybe just hold off for a few minutes to we don't show up too early." I don't know if my stomach will want to wait that long, but I follow my head rather than my stomach and agree with Ralph.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

With the darkness now claiming the island, we head in the direction of the feast. An orange-red glow dots on the beach.

A bonfire roars in the air with its flames, trying to lick the clouds. Piggy, Ralph, Eric and I walk up hesitantly. Then I see something. You're kidding...

Pablo was painted, and clearly had given into Jack's little facade. Ralph doesn't seem to notice him, but he's heard enough for the day. The little ones on our side run over to join the campfire chant with the hunters that Jack led.

"One!"

"Hit it!"

"Two!"

"Hit it!"

"Three!"

"Hit it!"

"Four!"

"Hit it!"

"One! Two! three! four- One! Two! Three! Four!"

"We like it here, we love it here! We finally found a home!"

"A what?"

"A home!"

"A what?"

"A home! A home away from home!"

Eric veers off to the side of the fire, but on the opposing side of Sam. I stand, huddled awkwardly with Ralph and Piggy as we sent judgemental glares to the hunters. With our new found presence, they all glare back without exchanging any words. Roger studies us darkly at Jack's side, ripping chunks from his piece of meat ravenously. They both appear all the more formidable in the haunting light with the fire contouring their features menacingly. My jaw rippled, but I force myself to relax and drank in a breath of air.

Scanning around, I don't see Simon anywhere. Well, he said he would meet us here, but why should it take this long to peer inside a cave? Tony and Robert are sawing into the other half of the pig carcass quite vigorously, but I'm thankful to see that there was pieces getting cut off to be individually cooked. Knowing how they are, they would have likely tried to throw the whole thing in the flames for ten seconds and hope it does the trick.

Slabs of juicy, cooked meat were laid out on a log, up for grabs but we don't even make a move, eyeing the boys who snatched them up and eat sloppily. The fire roars on, crackling like no tomorrow. I hate to admit that the smell of the pork got to me, making my stomach yearn for sustenance.

"Luke," Jack breaks the silence finally. "Take them some meat." Meanwhile, purple strikes of lighting crack through the clouds above.

"Stop being a little bitch, you dork!" I turn my head, startled by the harsh tone. The scene reveals a screaming Sam dumping an ear load on Eric for some unknown reason. Noticing this, I turn my attention to them. Eric looks a bit startled by the out burst, and Sam himself even seems shocked that he could be capable of such a tone.

"You're the one who left the group for some dumbass hunters who all act like a ton of psych ward patients, running around with their tails between their legs..."

"No one else here gives a fuck about you, Ralph, or your fucking fire watch!" Sam is clearly holding back, learning from last time. I can tell by how his jaw tenses up at certain words... he stutters a bit more.

"Wake the hell up and accept that you aren't going home again!"

Sadness flashes across Eric's face, and even I take that statement to heart like it was aimed at me. My arms cross over my chest, and I try to inch closer on the argument.

"Weird hearing that from you," Eric hisses incredulously, squinting his eyes. The painted twin on the other hand struggles to maintain his powered stance.

"After all..." Eric drawls out breezily. "You were the only one who couldn't accept that dad wanted us out of his life," he chipped matter of factly. For the first time, Sam seemed at a loss for words. I inhaled sharply through my nose. Shut up, shut up, just shut up...

"You didn't want to believe that he was gonna send us away. And mom didn't have the custody to say against it. Dad was tired of us."

"Shut up!" Sam lashes out in a more childish way, revealing his twelve year old self. My heart races up while watching the scene unfold. I can see that the tables have for once turned; Eric was the one with a taunting expression as Sam felt the boiling anger.

"Why?" Eric tilts his head to the side in mock curiousity. "If I'm not allowed to have hope that we'll get out of this hell-hole, then why do you get to think dad just wanted us to go into the military for some 'legacy' shit?"

"Because he wanted us to!" Sam shouts back, red faced. "Dad was in the military too, dork! He wanted the same for us! He didn't want to get rid of us!"

Eric chuckles to himself at his brother's claim. With a twitching eye, Sam lunges at him while saying, "Shut your fucking trap!"

Eric stands up to face him eye to eye rather than cowering away. 

"Are you gonna beat me up again?" he asks calmly. Sam's chest begins to heave in anger as he laughs through breaths.

"If you pull anything... or even lay and hand on me, I'll knock your ass to the ground, then Roger will kill you," he promises certainly. Fucking stop already. As one final point of machinery, Sam swiftly pushes his brother onto the log-seat with ease.

"Leave me alone!" Eric slams his hand down finally. Sam shrugs at him smugly, before turning on his heel. I groan at the quarrel. The arguments become more vicious and hurtful by the time. When I had a conversation with Sam, I sort of hoped that the strain between the twins could be healed. Neither of them are in the right for once... I can surely say that.

The only thing to snaps me back into reality is Jack challenging Ralph.

"I promised I'd get meat!" The savage barks at us.

"Didn't I, Ralph?" His voice is raspy from so much yelling. Keeping his head down, Luke hands us all a share of food, and even passes me a fruit paired with a knowing look. I guess even he thought I'd only go for something plant based, but that thought alone proves itself to be untrue.

"I want you to tell the little ones that I made a promise and I fucking kept it!" Jack slams his spear to the ground, creating a loud pop. Piggy jerks suddenly. 

"Say it!" The painted chief yells over the sounds of the fire.

"You kept your promise, but you don't get to keep the fire watch!" Ralph retorts, lunging slightly. Watching in silence, I tore off pieces of pork and nibble on it for a taste. Sure enough, I begin taking bigger bites and eat faster than expected.

"You think one lousy meal is enough worth over getting rescued?? We've gotta be one group again!"

"I agree!" Jack takes only a few strides in our direction. I perk up at his words. "You can join my camp and have all the meat you want!" God damn it, Jack... A sigh leaves my chest. Of course. Why would I even think that he could be cooperative?

"We don't want your meat!" Ralph argues, but turns to Piggy who is currently scarfing down a second helping of pork. Fat and juices dribble down his chin. Wiping his mouth, Piggy smiles at us sheepishly. Ralph rolls his eyes and flings his own share of food into the flames.

"I'm sure that Veronica does," Jack smirks with me being his easiest way of gloating. Most of the hunters chortled in amusement as I mentally pray I don't get dragged into this. My prayers go unanswered when Jack appears in front of me.

"Don't you, Vera?" He whispers smoothly. Our chests practically touch and my heart races at the fact he was getting so intimate with an audience.

"Jack..." I say in a warning tone, narrowing my eyes. With a lift of his cheek, he snatches the peice of fruit from my hands and takes a huge bite. I can't help but notice that it made his jawline all the more prominent for a split moment. Chewing somehow in his charismatic ways, he gently holds my chin and pressed the bitten fruit to my lips. His alluring gaze urged me to naturally take the next course of action. Keeping my eyes locked with his blue ones, I take a bite of the fruit and brace myself for a reaction. This earns multiple wolf whistles from the hunters and a crest-fallen expression from both Ralph and Piggy.

Finally, in that same fake innocent tone, "Yes ma'am?" Jack chimed.

I kick myself for being so dumb. He sighs through a smug laugh, proud of his doing. Charms and style don't make me go weak-kneed.

"I didn't come here for this, Jack." I whisper.

"Hey, lover boy!" Luke pipes up, making Roger and Sam giggle. "How's things going with your bitch?" Hit by those two words fueled by hate, I instinctively snap my gaze over.

"Please, leave her alone, Luke," says Piggy who stares into the fire miserably. 

"Hey!" Jack snaps to my friend tauntingly. Apparently, he just loves to eat into 'pathetic jackpots' like he views them as.

"No one asked for your commentary, lard-ass!" Dropping my jaw, I shove him angrily in the chest.

"Ooooooh!" Go the hunters in response. Looking around, I try cutting the regard short, unsure of what my friends think of it.

"Leave Piggy alone! He didn't do anything to you!" I exclaim while fuming. Jack arches a brow.

"Well you sure have gotten a mouth tonight," he answers evenly, scanning me up and down. For once, I got the same scary chills from him that Roger always gave me.

"What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?" I shriek, throwing my hands in the air. "You hate me now, but you were fine with loving up on me in private yesterday!"

"Knew it," Roger comments in the background. Jack drawls a hum as he steadily approaches me in either surprise or challenge. "I could say the same about you," he retorts, cupping my cheek. This time I don't hesitate to slap his hand away.

The corners of Jack's lips curl up like the cheshire cat, and his head cocked to the side in an almost serpentine manner. He placed the hand that I slapped away on his chest in mock solemn.

"How swiftly you dismiss our love."

My face darkens at his coy words which seems to fuel him and the others up with a riled, boyish craze. 

"C'mon..." Jack tries to reason with a mock pouty face. "We're just joking around, you know."

"Oh, fuck you!" I state upfront, crossing my arms. That phrase can only go two ways.

"When and where?" Jack flashed his painfully blue eyes. "Because if you want to get all kinky with it, you can continue slapping me around. Just give me the word."

The onlookers howled out like hyenas. Even the ones of younger ages threw their heads back laughing, which repulsed me to no end, knowing how much of their minds have been corrupted.

"I must say," Jack continued. "I had no clue that you liked it rough."

My dismantled expression rests on Jack with a slack jaw. He reaches out and curtly brushes some embers off my shoulder.

"I want you to back off. Right now." I snarl through gritted teeth. Jack raises his chin like he's impressed.

"And I don't want your meat. Neither does Ralph," I gesture to my friends. A scowl sinks over his expression when I mention them, like he thinks they somehow impact my opinion.

"We came here to try to talk for some middle ground." Ralph says firmly.

"Where's your precious magic conch then?" Luke hollers from the other side of the bonfire. "How will we ever manage to talk it out and share our feelings?" 

Giving him a glare, I flash him the bird for the mocking sarcasm.

"The conch is in our camp where it should be!" Piggy stamps his foot. 

"Why does that matter?" Luke fires back. 

"Because that's all we have! It helps us keep rules and order!" Piggy exclaims. "It belongs to us!" He then looks at me for validation. I show a single nod.

"What, are you having second-thoughts?" Jack challenges them. "Are you afraid to see me running a group stronger than yours?"

My heart pounds when he leaves me to stand alone and walk over to them.

"Anyway, we don't need you and your stroke-inducing spiels, Ms. Piggy-tits." His hands shoot out like a bullet train, ramming the shorter boy's chest with hate-fueled intent. Piggy stumbles to the ground, which triggers an intervention with Ralph. I watch him jump to shove the blonde away.

"Cut it out, Merridew! You know to be better than this!"

"Am I?" Jack growls. Anger visibly seethes in his eyes as one thing has led to another up to this point. 

"I wanna dance!" He bellows. "I wanna feast and dance! We don't care about what you or your tub-of-lard friend have to say, so guess what? No one is interested in you or your assembly! Get the fuck out of here!" 

Jack sets his jaw and turns to me sharply. Flinching back, he notices me move so suddenly. His features soften momentarily, but he breaks the eye contact in shame. I shake my head. 

"C'mon hunters!" He calls as he makes his way around the flames, thrusting his spear in the air. None of us normies even expected that we would have to watch one of their little 'rituals.' All of the boys jump up at once in scary unison. Out of fear, Eric rushes over to our side to watch this unfold.

"Roger's the pig!" shouts Jack. I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't Roger running on all fours as the hunters chase him around, belting that God awful chant.

"Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" It's a riot-- some demented dance ritual thing. A boy pretends to be a boar while the rest jab at him with the butt ends of their spears. 

"What... The... Actual, literal... Fuck." I drawl out in astonishment.

"Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" Flashes of red and black dart across my vision with a variety of skin tones, all chanting. Ralph maintains the same jaw-dropped face.

They've lost it, I think to myself. They really are a bunch of fucked up savages. My arms cross over my chest, but one hand still covers my mouth so I can fully process what I am witnessing. A pigs head on a stick, a scary chant, a weird dance ritual, a blood obsession...

God. We watch the crowd of boys finally crowd around Roger so heavily that they beat the dull ends of their spears into his back, making him collapse into the sand.

"Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! Kill the pig! Bash his head! Do em in!" A gasp sucks into my lungs involuntarily, but Roger jumps up from the ground, rising up with a wail before landing back on his feet. They all cheered in a small cloud of enthusiasm before Jack declares his next orders.

"Billy's the monster!" And so it starts back up, but the chant was slightly altered.

"Kill the beast! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!" Instead of trying to run on all fours like Roger did, Bill just ran with an extremely crouched over posture, his hands grazing the sand and tracing small trails as he sprints around the fire. Those small trails are stampeded over by the hunters.

"Kill the beast! Slit his throat! Spill his blood!" Eric shuffles closer to me, clearly disturbed by his twin's behavior. I touch his arm comfortingly, but I don't imagine that I actually helped any.

"Kill the beast! Slit his throat! Spill his blood! Kill the beast! Bash his head! Do em in!" They overcrowded him and trample him into the sand, pretending to stab him. The look of joy and lust on Jack's face... on all of their faces. It frightens me. They truly relish in the small, pleading moments, and it makes me feel sick. Bill pretends to lay limp for a bit like they actually killed him before dramatically 'reviving.'

"Hunters!" Jack roars over the chaos. "Robert's the monster!" The rest wail a battle cry before picking up the lyrics of the chant. Meanwhile, the thunder continues on without any rain to make itself present. A buzzing nags at me.

I don't know what it is, but my gaze is pulled to the left. A green glow travels towards us.

"It's the monster! The real monster!" Jack exclaims hoarsely, thrusting his spear in the orb's direction. "Kill it!"

My heart plummets at the ice cold awareness which fills my skeleton to the brim of my skull. Said 'monster' is only Simon sprinting over with the gleaming glow stick in his hand. Emanating from the object, bright green rays shoot out, appearing prominently in the dark night while over powering Simon to invisibility. Wielding their weapons and belting that chant, the crowd of hunters make him the new objective. Rendered speechless, I sputter out in apprehension to find my bearings.

"Kill the beast! Bash his head! Do em in!"

Blinking back the venomous burn of tears welling in my eyes, I rasp out meekly while the severity started hitting me all at once in a terrifying revelation before it can be processed on the conveyor belt of my running thoughts.

"H-...hey..." It's quiet, and croaked. Not nearly loud enough to be heard. I swallow the dryness in my throat, my heart thudding in my jugular.

With my blood coiling in agitated horror, a click braces my mind. I lunge forward in a shooting flash, the electricity of adrenaline zipping through me to rush to my aid.

"Wait- stop! What're you doing??" I strain to screech over the chaos. The attempt goes heedless, and the boys are already yards away. The tendrils of fear return, wrapping tight loops around my heart. Energy surges through me, and I'm already chasing behind them before I can process it. Ralph is out of the question. Piggy doesn't float across my mind. My thoughts are only about Simon.

It doesn't take long for the climax to reach the situation, and time falls into slow motion. Spears, nails, teeth, and knives all reign their brutal attack on an innocent boy. Flesh tears and rips, splattering his life essence to the formidable ground which holds no drop of redeemable sympathy.

Jack was right, and so was Simon. The monster really is here, and it was us all along. Squelching sounds of blood tore through the air and splatter onto the faces of savages. Fueled by instinct, I begin clawing at bare backs and yanking spears back. This proves itself useless to their hyperfixation.

"Stop!!" Tears flood out of my eyes and a few strained sobs force themselves out. 

"It's Simon!!"

No screams of pain are audible over the savages. However, I hear a few statements about how it's, "Just Captain Benson," but the chant carries the words away like how a tide briskly sweeps up a sandcastle. Anguish submerges my being, and the utter frustration that no matter how I hard I beat, I can't break through the barricade of boys. Spasms wrack through me and reverberate in my shouts.

"Fuck- God, please no!" In my frantic state, I cry and pray. I pray to any God, Diety, or Higher Power that could somehow, possibly answer. What I believe doesn't matter at this moment, because I'm only a human, and there's some things that I can't overcome no matter how much I act like I can. Most disturbingly, I feel repulsed by how fueled the stabs are with hate and intent. Anger clouds their vision and I can't do anything.

A spear shooting into his eye, oozing. A knife slashing across his jaw, splitting tendons. Spears in his back, spilling blood. Knives in his chest, piercing his lungs that held the oxygen to keep him alive. The future's not ours to see. Que será, será. What will be, will be.

As one last attempt, I drop down and try to crawl past the hunters now bloody legs. Two hands take me by the shoulders to pull me away, and hug tightly from behind. It restricts all upper body movement, like being trapped in a tub of glue.

Thrashing wildly, I scream profanities to Ralph who holds me back. Whether or not he tried muttering words to me -- it wouldn't have tapped my mind. 

"Let me go, let me go, let me... go- Oh, God- Simon!"

My knees gave out underneath me, and Ralph lowered me down gently. The infection of savagery plagued them all. Seeming like years had gone by, what felt like the impossible finally occured. The hunters ceased their attack, and backed away to find what was only a small boy. I could see it. It's written all over their faces -- the horrible realization of murder. Finally, the truth prevailed. With Ralph locked in a state of frozen shock, I forced my way out of his hold and collapsed next to my deceased friend. The younger brother I never had.

The lifeless body slumps against the unforgiving ground, as his skin hangs pale and drained. His jaw- frozen in a permanent scream. 

"Simon..." A whisper floats up in the crowd. Ashamed and aware, cries arise from a few boys. Taking a deep breath, a scream rips up my throat painfully, raw and hoarse. My chest heaves and I break out into sobs. Simon's mutilated body is beyond recognition from the received grief bestowed onto him, sourced from pure violence. Mangled flesh is tied together by some tendons and ligaments, held on by threads of tissue. Simon's butchered intestines are spilled, and glitter under the moonlight. His jaw is a gaping welt of blood and shattered bone, chin to neck, clearly torn in half and unhinged.

The only thing to render the grotesque mound of flesh and blood unmistakably as Simon, was his face. Scratched up, yes, but those eyes... Those aimlessly staring eyes. Well, sort of. One was nothing but a bloody, hallowed out socket after being gouged repeatedly. The other popped the green-blue color that I was so familiar with. Simon's one-familiar face was distorted with a mask of agony. His mouth hung open, a silent scream frozen in time, as if the last breath had been torn from his lungs. Breathing through trembling sobs, I shut what was left of his eyes forever so he could rest. A testament to the brutality of his final moments.

A dark maroon halo pooled around his body. Puncture wounds littered all across his once clear skin, oozing blood and red stuff. His innards and hacked up organs were sprawled along the shore, coated with sand. Bile rises up inside me when the rancid, metallic scent hit my nostrils and flooded them so evidently, plastering my olfactory nerves like paint. His curly, matted hair was caked with blood, resembling the ocean's twisted, rippled waves. I tried combing my fingers through it as the tide thrusted over his head, mopping up some of the mess. It was almost nurturing in the sickest way possible.

"Veronica..." I hear Jack say lowly. Ralph reluctantly tears himself away from the grim scene, wiping his eyes while an all-too familiar feeling wraps its hand around my throat. I want to gag as I feel the wet sand beneath me, slick with the inky fluid.

Swallowing hard, I clutched Simon's bloody hand, muttering apologies. Apologies for not seeing him sooner to warn the boys. Apologies for letting him go in that cave so late in the day. Apologies for not insisting he should go with me. Apologies for his murder. The once golden sand is dyed red, like vibrant water colors, only this isn't so innocent. I squeezed tighter, and tried to ignore the crunching of his already broken metacarpal bones.

Everything looks red---such a haunted color. A tortured, hollowing color.

I inhale another breath of air before shrieking in an utmost wave of anger and grief. It tears at me in a relentless reign. Oh, God, it's all my fault. I let this happen. I ignored my bad feelings. Why didn't I pay attention? They're all murderers now, yet I let it happen obliviously to contain my own hatred for this new tribe. For what? So I could please Jack? Deep down, I can recognize that I'm not any better. Back to my roots I go; letting murder happen.

"Veronica... we didn't know..." Jack touches my shoulder, stupidly setting off a bomb that ticked away in my chest. Lashing out, I snap up and punch him repeatedly in the chest.

"Look what you did! Look what you fucking did! You're a murderer! All of you are fucking psychotic, you killed him! You killed him!"

The savage boy makes no move to restrain me or fight back. He just stares with his blue eyes that shone all the more intently with the help of lining tears, and took my hits. Giving into my sobs once more, I collapse against his chest and sink to the sand.

"His- His blood is on your hands, Jack. Your hands..." I wail pitifully. To my surprise, Jack attempts to embrace me, but I dart away in fear.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I scream and scramble away. "Touch me again, and see what happens!" Ignoring his facials, I look at the mutilated body, and press gentle lips to Simon's damp forehead.

"I'm so sorry..." I bow my head. "Please, Simon, come back to me." I didn't know what I expected to see when I stared at his body, like he would magically rise up with that thoughtful expression. I'm done with them all. It shouldn't be draining to cry. Crying makes you feel free. Then again, everything feels draining now.

Too exhausted to get up, I mind Ralph and Piggy as they both sit next to me. In shame, the hunters disperse from the scene with guilt etched in their dulled eyes.

Jack stands there for a moment, seemingly wanting to say something before giving into the tension and hurrying off. I lean my head onto Ralph's shoulder that shook spontaneously from crying and squeeze Simon's still warm hand. He'd be cold soon enough, and the familiar ambience he gave off would later vanish forever into oblivion, or whatever afterlife greets him. Wherever he goes, I hope it's somewhere good. Actually, I know he'll go someplace good. Simon deserves happiness for being the kindest soul I've met. I only want to shield him from the damned coldness that is Death himself.

As the ocean begins to claim him, a flurry of bioluminescent fish circle his head, perhaps attracted to the blood. The glow fish ring around like a halo, softening the mangled image before us. The tide pulls him again, and I instinctively grab his broken hand to keep him from being swept out. 

"No." The word leaves my lips like a desperate command through grit teeth. I can't oppress my shaking. The waves come back up the shore, denser and stronger now. They pull Simon again, rougher, but with ease. Sobbing out, I grip his arm, feeling it slip from my grasp due to the lubrication of blood and saltwater. 

"No," I whimper out weakly, desperately pulling him back from the ocean. A pair of arms wrap around my shoulders, gently taking me away from the course of nature. 

"Ralph, stop." My lips quiver uncontrollably as I struggle to maintain a grip on Simon. The frothy tide flows up to our waists, nearly making myself drift deeper in. 

"Let him go," Ralph speaks calmly. 

"No." 

"Veronica, let him go." 

"No!" 

I thrash against the restraint of Ralph's sturdy arms, but the attempts are futile. I can feel knees sink further into the wet sand with every jerk of me trying to tug away. 

"Ralph, stop!" The tears continue flowing as I watch Simon slip further from my grasp, the Colonel gently pulling me back at the same time. 

"It's okay, it's okay." He whispers in my ear. Sobs wrack the gap in my chest. I can only shake my head, now choking on my breath as my fingertips slip away from Simon's skin. 

"SIMON!" The wail rips from my throat. "No! Oh, my God, Simon, no!" 

I again convulse in Ralph's arms strapping me to his chest in an attempt to wrench free, but he resists my protests with ease. Giving in to the reality at hand, I let myself fall against Ralph's chest, letting the weeps overtake me. I turn slightly and lean my head into the crook of his neck, sobbing out. His grip loosens into a comforting hug and his chin finds my shoulder to rest on. Piggy awkwardly stands a ways back, away from the rushing tide. 

"It's okay," Ralph soothes, his thumb gently rubbing my back. 

"It's not," I bawl. 

"I- I know." I hear the restraint in his voice as he struggles to maintain composure. Composure to not let his emotions claim him the way mine claimed me. 

"I wanna feel like I'm seventeen again," Ralph mumbles. "Why does everything change the day you turn eighteen?" His voice is tight, grief-stricken. Unfortunately for him, I can't answer his question. Little does he know, I never got to feel like I was truly seventeen. We just sit together and grieve for the fallen cadet.

Simon... I'm sorry.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

♕︎♕︎♕︎

I'm here now. I'm right here. Why isn't that enough?