Written for a school project 3948395 years ago...
THE BEAST IS EVERYWHERE
Ralph - unbolded.
Jack - bold.
I'm home now. Mummy was so pleased to see me. She came running out of the house when the man drove up the driveway, and hugged and kissed me until I had to tell her to stop because it was cold and I wanted to go inside. I can't help wondering if Simon's mummy and Piggy's Aunt would have been as pleased to see them… I feel so safe. Everything that happened on the island seems so far away and unreal, almost like it never really happened and it was all just a horrible nightmare that I've woken up from now. But I know it wasn't. It was all real. It was so real that I know I'll never be able to forget it, even though I so badly want to. The things we did, oh . . .
The first thing Mother told me when I got back was, "Don't you EVER do that again!" Which, while obviously reasonable, made a feeling of anger come to me. Here I was, in the real world again. I was no longer on an island where boys who were not as strong as me had to listen to what I said. No. Here I was again, getting orders from a grown up. I hate it. I know as soon as Mother realizes that I am back, and safe, and not dead, the rules will start again. "Don't get mud on your breeches, Jack!" "Stop hitting your brother, Jack!" Orders. One thing I hate the most. I don't like being the one who has to listen to what someone tells me to do. I like to be the one in charge. That was why I hated Ralph the most. He told me how to do things. All the others just listened to him, like he was meant to be their leader from the start. It should have been ME. I guess that's why we . . . did what we did.
I still have nightmares about when Jack Merridew and the others were chasing me. The things we did seem silly now, almost like it was all a game like the navy man said. I know we were being silly but I can't forget how scared I was. I thought I was going to die…like the others. I also think about what I was thinking when I was hiding in the hole. I was going to stab the savage with my spear if he tried to stop me escaping. I could have killed him just like…just like when I was in the dance. Daddy would be so upset if he knew. He always tells me how proud he is of me. But if he knew about the things I did…
Ralph was the reason that everything went wrong. If he hadn't been there things wouldn't have gotten so bad. He ruined everything. Him andFatty. All the same . . . when I was sharpening my spears . . . now, I couldn't recognize the thoughts that had gone through my mind. I wanted to kill Ralph, just like I wanted to kill the pig. Kill the pig! Cut her throat! Spill her blood . . . Ralph was like an animal to me, that needed to be hunted, killed, and have his head impaled upon a stake, just like the pig. Looking back . . . thoughts like that are frightening. If I would be so batty as to share them with Mother, I am terrified to think of how she would look at me. She'd take me to church, and tell me to pray until all thoughts like that left my head. Funny if she should say that. She was not the one that was trapped on an island for so long. She should just stop telling me to not paint my face. I use her paints. The ones she puts on her face. She tells me not to touch them. But I need my mask. I don't know why. It makes me feel like I was still on the island; still in power, and still the RIGHTFUL chief.
When they were chasing me was so scary. I felt like I was the prey, and they were the predators. I can't really remember what was going through my mind. I just remember I was so panicked and desperate for escape. I could hear their footsteps getting closer and closer, and I felt like now matter how fast I ran, they were going to eventually catch up and do me. Their cries are what stick out the most in my mind. The way they did it. They actually planned to kill me, down the tiny detail of yelling out twice if they got stuck in the bush, so they'd have more chance of catching and killing me. It makes me shiver to think how boys who started off as my friends could turn so cold and savage.
I could still feel that emotion pumping through my veins, that same one that I'd felt when we'd been hunting Ralph. Calling out, running, hiding, chasing, spearing . . . It was like a bloodlust. Something that Father would be disgusted by. He prides himself on being a good Christian, and likes things to be perfectly in order. He likes power too. He's in the royal navy. Ha. I bet my father is at a higher position than Ralph's father. He does not like taking orders from people. He likes to be the one telling people what to do, and if it's any indication from how he used to smack me when I was a younger boy, he does not like it when his orders are not followed. So, why is it that Ralph sees what I did as so wrong? I was merely teaching discipline, like Father. The littluns – and even some of the bigguns were rowdy while with me. How else would I get them to listen? Beatings are how my father got me to listen to him. They hurt, obviously but they kept me in line.
Things seem strange after being on the island. I mean, finally, the concept of time has returned to me. We have clocks once again. Things seem to go so much slower again. And it's so much colder. Sometimes I feel like removing all but my pants once again, because I had become so used to it. Mummy tells me off for the small bad habits I have picked up. Oh. And I have blackouts now. Daddy says that it's perfectly understandable after what happened to me. But its scary. I just stop thinking, and seeing. All I can hear are the cries of the hunters. One yell . . . two . . . one again . . .
Perfect Ralph. I can't believe that he was voted chief, when it was obvious that I should have been chosen. I'm stronger, and I'm a better hunter and a faster runner. If I had been chief, I would have gotten rid of Piggy sooner, so no one would have had to listen to his whining. He made me so waxy. And Simon deserved what he got. The nerve, pretending to be the beast and trying to scare us . . . he was probably trying to prove that Ralph was a better leader. It was all planned, I'll bet. I was expected to run screaming? Ha. I showed him in the end . . . it was his own fault.
Piggy had been such a good friend. I had only realized after he'd died. Why was it that the two decent boys, who'd never lower themselves to savagery, were murdered? There was no justice. Piggy had been more intelligent than I had realized, and I had been so quick at the beginning to laugh at his nicknames. I never did learn what his real name was . . .
That Fatty was an idiot. I should have smashed both the lenses in his glasses, not just one. He was a fat, good for nothing pig who sat on his fat hind all day because of his stupid ass-mar. He was making it up, I'm certain. Roger was right to have pushed that rock. I only regret that it wasn't me pushing it.
It's so scary. Here I am, almost thirteen, and I know something that I doubt Daddy or Mummy even knows. I know who the real beast is. I know where he is, and how he works now. I know why he does things, and when. I know who the beast is. I know him.
I still don't know one thing. Where was the beast? Why did we not see him? Samneric told me later that the beast from the rocks was not the beast at all. So why did we not see this beast? I could have killed it. Then the littluns would stop their crying. Although, it was always good fun scaring them with stories of seeing the beast, and detailed descriptions of his large teeth and red eyes and lethal talons. They always looked so frightened.
The beast is not only on that island. Oh, no. He's everywhere.
Although . . . something Simon said once was very peculiar. He was acting queer . . . he said we were the beasts. What a fool. A silly thing to say. I mean, WE don't have large teeth and red eyes and talons. What a fool.
The beast is everywhere.
I wonder if the beast is still on the island . . .
And he's not a creature. He's so much more than that.
Gosh, maybe he's eating what's left of Piggy. Ha.
Jack is the beast.
Stupid fat pig
I am the beast.
I should have hunted him like the pig he was . . . ha. Stolen his glasses and smashed the conch earlier.
Roger is the beast . . . and Piggy . . . and Samneric. We can't help it. The beast is something that doesn't ever rest. It's omnipresent. Like the Lord. It makes the most sensible people do the darkest things. Like killing a boy and worse still, trying to deny it later. It was a dark, dark thing. And it's everyone. Perhaps lying asleep.
Mother tells me that I am going to a doctor. She says I'm not quite right. She says I'm malicious. She's a fool too.
The beast is an evil. The evil. And everyone can be evil.
I'm not malicious. To be malicious is to be evil. Fancy my own mother calling me evil? What cheek.
I hope I never wake the beast in me up ever again.