So I've done some bad stuff. Lead to the deaths of like two or three kids, almost killed another myself. My ghosts. My past. They haunt me in my dreams. Not a night goes by when I don't wake up after a dream about a hunt, a dance, a fire, anything island related. Sometimes I see their "ghosts" although I don't believe in such supernatural fallacy. You go to heaven or hell, simple. But other times I wonder, can you wander earth and then go?
I'm kinda bitter now. Meaner than before, almost feral thanks to the Island's lack of order (my own fault.) When my mother tries to hug me, I run. I pull away and retreat, even though I know it kills her. My choir, they expect my wrath. Beatings, harsh words, and bitterness are sure to ensue when Choir Master turns around. And Ralph, he hates me; he cowers when he sees me. I glare at him, hate him, the living reminder of what I've done.
It's awkward, I see his ghost too. He's not even dead. Maybe it's the ghost of who he was, because he's different now. He used to be strong and extroverted. He was a leader. Now he's not even a follower. He looks down never speaking, sitting in fetal position and distancing himself from society. Out of a fear that society will turn on him again? I don't care. And it's all my fault. I don't care.
"Jack, you lead the Choir in warm up, please." Choir Master says.
So I lead them. They sound so perfect! Like little angels! Their voices, they think they're so pure! Can't they remember they're no more, no better, than demons who have served the Lord of the Flies?
Bill makes a mistake. Fear colors his features as he looks to see if I heard. I did. While Choir Master is turned around, shuffling through papers, I punch Bill hard in the stomach, sending him reeling and coughing. Weaklings! They have no worth.
After practice, where I have successfully nailed Wilfred and Maurice for messing up words and screamed at the Choir a half dozen times, Roger approaches me.
"Jack, you're going too far." He says. Did he just challenge me? I won't hit him, though, he's my best friend.
"I beg your parden?" I sneer, disgusted.
"You can't give in to your anger." Roger says, "I know all too well what happens when you let that happen! I still wish I was dead, when I think about Piggy, when I feel that guilt!
"Then die and stop complaining about it." I snap.
He's taken aback and his face contorts with pain. I hurt him, yet I retain that apathy with which I have become accustom.
"Jack," his voice shakes and his dark eyes tear into my blue. " 'Pride cometh before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.' Sorry, Jack, but you're not good enough to do what you do, and something's going to change you." He walks away.
What could really happen?