|Good and Lost
Author: Dear Editor PM
One shot. It takes place after the hunt for Ralph, and things had gone just as Jack intended. Sam and Eric reflect to a certain person their regrets and pain... REVISED Jan 28!Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Words: 453 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 1 - Published: 01-25-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2770329
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Flies were buzzing in their heads. There was the caw of a wild bird, rustling in the trees, a muffled thump of a falling fruit, and no sound- save for the flies. Then came the sound of breathlessness, quick and panicked, and sobbing that was worn and yet still fresh to the throat. They tumbled into the moss, into the clearing, safe from harm, safe from the spear and the paint-faced ogre that wielded it. He was long gone. They were long gone. But it was only a matter of time before it would grow dark and cold, and they would grow hungry and return to the encampment to take their punishment.
They looked up, following the line of a stick that jutted from the dirt, following it up, up, up. Sam buried his face in his dirty hands, Eric fell to his knees in horror, and both seemed to fall into a moment of unleveled hysteria.
"…I-It wasn't supposed to–"
"We didn't know things would go so far! Jack, he–"
"–makin' him as chief–"
"It wasn't that we didn't want to stay on your side…"
"We did! But Jack, he-"
"–yes, him and Roger–"
"There wasn't nothin' we could do!"
"But w-we should'a stopped it! We should'a–"
"– done something. I know. But now it's…"
"…and Ralph is…"
"But we didn't help 'em!"
"– refused to!"
"We didn't wanna watch…couldn't…"
"If only we could'a done something–"
"–too late for things like that–"
"–yes, too late…"
"…We didn't mean…"
"It wasn't supposed to be this way…"
The two boys stood before their former chief. From their eyes to their chins were jagged streaks where the grime and paint had been washed away. Their eyes were still wide and thick with tears. And they stared at the impaled thing, letting it soak in –fair hair and blood and hollow eyes– and one brother clutched at the other's arm, creating crevices with his nails. Identical dirty faces crumpled into one combined and morbid grimace. The pervasive buzz of the flies drilled themselves into the twins' brains, twisting the conscience, driving them insane.
And for fear of the head taking it's chance to reanimate and give an answer to their confessions, the two boys fled. They fled from guilt and sorrow and promises, and from that impenetrable, sinking ache of disloyalty. They would take Jack's punishment. They would take it all, and still the pain would not be enough to measure up. They fled from all things good and lost, still it was all they could do to let go.