Roger eyed the glasses in Jack’s bloody hand, as the three boys darted along the shore. They were slowly exhausted by the depth of the pale sand that moulded cruelly around their feet. Roger felt like a British officer, charging heroically along the pebbly sand with the stolen plans of the German opposition. The blood in his mouth was bittersweet, however. He once again felt Ralph’s bony fist pounding into his cheek. He experienced the pain in slow motion. Roger swung wildly at a body that wasn’t there.
His legs became a factory for lactic acid and he slumped to the sand, panting like a hound. The exaggerated rise and fall of his chest remained but otherwise, his body was still. Black hair crept into his eyes. He was deprived of the energy …show more content…
He surveyed his wounds from the brawl in the shelters. His shaking hands navigated an overcoat of cuts and bruises. Ralph had served him a right beating. He lifted his hands to his face and stared at his right pointer finger which was now occupied by a drop of warm blood. Right then, his breath was halted by a startling cackle. Roger’s head jolted to the left, trying to locate the source. A bird. Majestic, colourful, distinctive. Roger met its gaze. It seemed to mock his trepidation. A flutter of wings. Another bird. Another cackle. This time, the sound reverberated around him. His head ached terribly. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, attempting to force the resonating squawk away. It only worsened the sound. Louder. Longer. More …show more content…
Ralph came closer. Roger kicked out at the silhouetted monster, striking it but doing no damage. The silhouette vanished and Roger’s gaze dropped to the shelters where the material Ralph slept.
Embarrassment submerged him. He hated being intimidated. He hated looking weak, even when there was no one there to see it. He hated Ralph.
Finding clarity in his insanity, Roger started to think. He mumbled to himself.
“Ralph is … weak. Ralph is … dumb. Ralph … must … die.”
The thought almost brought him to tears. Roger knew he was too frightened to even go near Ralph. Ralph would dispose of him. Quickly.
“Like in the shelters,” Roger murmured. He was speaking his fear. Letting it overflow. Like lava.
He had to find a way to defeat Ralph. Make him suffer. Alone. In the darkness.
Then, it hit him.
“P … P … Piggy.” The fact that he finally completed the word made him cheerful inside. A grin spread across his face, exposing his yellow and red teeth. If he got Piggy, Ralph would be forced to surrender. If he got Piggy, Ralph would have no brains to help him. No sense. No sanity. If he got Piggy, the tribe would admire him. Even Jack wouldn’t refuse his status after such a feat. He would take over. He would build a new society. He would be king. Roger let out a jittery
His legs became a factory for lactic acid and he slumped to the sand, panting like a hound. The exaggerated rise and fall of his chest remained but otherwise, his body was still. Black hair crept into his eyes. He was deprived of the energy …show more content…
He surveyed his wounds from the brawl in the shelters. His shaking hands navigated an overcoat of cuts and bruises. Ralph had served him a right beating. He lifted his hands to his face and stared at his right pointer finger which was now occupied by a drop of warm blood. Right then, his breath was halted by a startling cackle. Roger’s head jolted to the left, trying to locate the source. A bird. Majestic, colourful, distinctive. Roger met its gaze. It seemed to mock his trepidation. A flutter of wings. Another bird. Another cackle. This time, the sound reverberated around him. His head ached terribly. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, attempting to force the resonating squawk away. It only worsened the sound. Louder. Longer. More …show more content…
Ralph came closer. Roger kicked out at the silhouetted monster, striking it but doing no damage. The silhouette vanished and Roger’s gaze dropped to the shelters where the material Ralph slept.
Embarrassment submerged him. He hated being intimidated. He hated looking weak, even when there was no one there to see it. He hated Ralph.
Finding clarity in his insanity, Roger started to think. He mumbled to himself.
“Ralph is … weak. Ralph is … dumb. Ralph … must … die.”
The thought almost brought him to tears. Roger knew he was too frightened to even go near Ralph. Ralph would dispose of him. Quickly.
“Like in the shelters,” Roger murmured. He was speaking his fear. Letting it overflow. Like lava.
He had to find a way to defeat Ralph. Make him suffer. Alone. In the darkness.
Then, it hit him.
“P … P … Piggy.” The fact that he finally completed the word made him cheerful inside. A grin spread across his face, exposing his yellow and red teeth. If he got Piggy, Ralph would be forced to surrender. If he got Piggy, Ralph would have no brains to help him. No sense. No sanity. If he got Piggy, the tribe would admire him. Even Jack wouldn’t refuse his status after such a feat. He would take over. He would build a new society. He would be king. Roger let out a jittery