At first, it had been all about survival. Surviving, helping, finding a way to get off this bloody island. At first, Jack Merridew had been one of the most sophisticated, civilianized of the schoolboys. At first, at first, at first…

At first, Jack hadn't been a savage. A shell of the boy he'd been raised to be.

It had all started with that pig, the one he, Ralph and Simon had come across when they explored the island for the first time, three boys smiling in spite of their current situation. They'd been happy, hopeful, despite being stuck on an island, despite not knowing if anyone would find them.

The pig. The pig Jack had sworn to kill, it had all started with that damned pig.

Jack claimed he'd been searching for a spot to strike. But he had known that they had known that Jack was simply, merely afraid of the blood. Of the gory mess they could've made.

Could've, would've, should've made.

He'd sworn he'd kill the pig, then. He wanted to kill the pig. The pig had to die. They had to have meat. Meat, meat, meat…

And when he had killed the pig, no one had been grateful for the meat, for the meal Jack and his hunters had given them. Even Ralph, whom Jack had at first taken a shy liking to, sat there with hands full of half-cooked meat, mad at the savage who'd prevented them from being rescued.

Well, Ralph could take his fire and stick it up his bum.

Jack made no attempt to reconcile with Ralph, like a normal, sophisticated, civilianized boy would.

As Jack stares into the bathing pool at night, admiring the way the paint, the clay and mud he'd found, looked across his face, a mass of red, white and black.

He was a savage, he thought.

The greatest one of them all.

A short oneshot. More of an attempt at writing Jack.

He's not that fun to write. :[

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