By fairy of irrelevence

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they are property of William Golding.

Notes: I've read LOTF at least half a dozen times. I am currently writing extensive notes on EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER and EVERY SINGLE NOTEABLE CHARCTER for school. It was inevitable that I would start writing fics for the book. Also, I have no IDEA what Piggy's real name is, so I picked one at random.

Summary: A brief drabble as I take a break from note-taking. Piggy lingers, and thinks of Simon.'

'Birds…' the thought comes unbidden, unwanted and insignificant to Piggy's scattered mind. He's spent the last two days or so thinking-which isn't unusual to him at all, but the fact that half of his brain exists…elsewhere is ever so disconcerting. At first he was terrifyingly aware of the hole in his head, of the way it refused to stop bleeding, of how the sea began to salt the wound dispassionately. When the sharp pain became to much to bear though, the remaining pieces of his mind, the one that registered his discomfort, shut down. His sense of touch was gone, and if it weren't for sight and sound and smell, he would surely believe himself to be truly dead.

He could taste the sea-spray upon his swollen tongue, and was therefore aware of his breathing. He did not rest within the blackness of the dead and blind, but rather remained in that hazy brightness of the near-sighted. He did not blink-his involuntary muscles slowly abandoning their functions.

Left with nothing but thought, with the world of sounds and ideas, he spent the first day wondering how he'd survived. Surely the fall had broken much of his body, but he could no longer feel what trauma might've been afflicted upon it, and so he was unsure of the damage's extent. But he remembered the quick, efficient strike of the ruddy boulder, and if he thought hard enough, could recall the vestigial remains of feeling, and identified the strike as one to the top of his head. He had lost bits of his Cerebrum, of his upper lobes, the ones not fully needed for survival-especially a survival both brief and without movement.

After figuring as much out, he tried to move onto the more abstract ideas of where Ralph might be, and how to express the feeling of being unable to feel. His mind was broken though, the parts he'd valued most, and though he'd taken the other parts of his brain for granted, being left solely with a few physical skills did not cause him to value them any more.

In the present though, with the sound of shrieking birds carrying over the roar of something-be it fire or ocean, he hardly cares anymore-he finds that the blurred whiteness of his eyes is dimming, and thoughts, memories, are leaping to the front of his mind. 'This is it,' he thinks, 'Synapses firing randomly, little electric sparks right before it all goes black.'

As he'd thought, synapses fired at random, but the mental image of the color-or rather, culminated absence of it-awakened something he'd shoved far away, a final night upon the beach when they were five, then four, and soon three.

It is dark-night. Jack is gone, a thing within that darkness, and the thought elicits a whimper from his sleepy form. Ralph lays close to him, protecting the last form of intelligence they have, along with the sacred specs and conch. Samneric are huddled on his other side, close together, dreaming, caught in some nightly fantasy-and he wonders if they share dreams as well as everything else, before thinking that such a thing is hardly possible.

And Simon…Simon is…

"Shhh," Simon is closer still than the others, at the opening of the hut, the stars and deep blue of night blurring his figure. Fingers pass lightly over Piggy's brow, travel softly through his thin, short hair. They soothe, reassure, comfort. "It's alright Edward, go back to sleep."

And Piggy thinks little of that name, of how it is known without his consent. The night is reaching its peak, the stars throb, Simon's fingers are gentle, and logic is a pointless affair that he has retreated from, preparing for slumber.

There are cries now. Over those the birds, over the roaring. There are shrieks and cries and…sobs. A whistle, a cruel, cruel whistle…

But the fingers beckon him.

They are friendly, sympathetic-the comfort of a sibling, of shared fate, of pity and mercy and love.

"Don't worry. You…we won't be here much longer," and he thinks he hears Simon choke on those words, despite the calm manner of his hands. Dark hair hides his face, but Piggy's specs are clutched in a pudgy hand, and he could not make out an expression either way.

He hears them leaving-something in him knows they are leaving, and it wants to launch toward indignation, wants to wallow in death and being forgotten, being left behind again.

Piggy is to preoccupied though, with his memory. Simon knew. Somehow, as he'd known Piggy's true name, he'd known that he-they-were going to die. And Piggy, for all his reason and logic, had been oblivious. In science he was left only with ignorance, while Simon had been still and quiet, furtive and shy, and blessed-or cursed-with a warning.

'He knew, he knew we were going to die, but he never said anything…'

'He just…he just let it happen, like…like there was nothing anyone could do, like it was fate.'

'He knew we'd die, and still he,' Piggy's mind faltered, blinked quickly, as though trying to clear itself.

'He still cared…' Blackness closed in now, his hearing failed, his thoughts came slowly, difficultly, dim. His wounds ceased to leak, and the pain returned-he stiffened, and then felt an old, familiar relaxation, the loosening of bowels. This time, he did not grunt.

There was release, and he was empty.

'He still…'

So, that's my first LOTF fic, I guess. Just toying with the fact that Simon knew that Ralph would 'get out okay'. Always wondered if he knew he'd die, somehow. Surprisingly, no slash. How odd, from me. Oh well, slash doesn't fit in this sort of story.