LORD OF THE FLIES 20 PROMPT CHALLENGES

Sleep

It was always cold when they slept. The littleuns would sometimes complain in gurgled murmurs while the biguns tossed and turned and snuggled together as tight as their boyish pride would allow it. Sometimes the littleuns would whimper in their sleep of beasts and monsters, and Simon would quietly comfort them and go back to sleep. It was always cold when they slept, but Simon knew it was really their hearts that were cold.

Light

The conch was a source of light for them, but not in the physical sense. The conch was good; it was power, and it represented the threads, thin as a spider's web, of civilization that they were desperately clinging onto. When the conch broke, it was as if their light had suddenly disappeared. Ralph thinks it did.

Blood

There was blood when Simon died. Rivers of dark red life flowed out of his body, mixing in with the water. There was blood when Piggy died too. It gushed out from his head and from multiple little wounds he had accumulated after his encounter with the boulder. When Piggy died, the blood also mixed in with the water, turning the sea to an odd pink colour. Ralph looked at his reflection in a pool of water and wonders if his blood would be the same.

Lie

"We'll have fun and be civilized and be rescued!"

"Right!"

…Such a beautiful lie.

Time

Time didn't exist on the island. Time is counted in days and weeks and months and years. They did not count Time in days or weeks or months or years; they did not count Time at all. Ralph does not know (has forgotten) how much time has passed on the island. Time stood still on the island. Time looked on as Simon was bitten and clawed and torn to death. Time sat in motionless space as Piggy's head was split open by a boulder. Ralph wonders if, because Time did not exist on the island…could he take that time back? Can he make it so the frozen time spent on the island never existed? ….Sounds like a plan.

Innocence

They all used to have innocence, at first. They were all children, and children naturally possessed an aura of innocence and ignorance. Yet such purity (white, white, glowing, brilliant snow white purity) is easily stained.

Jack looks down at the blood on his hands (splashes of rich crimson on white) and smiles.

What better colour to stain it with than red?

Secret

It was their little secret (murders), something to be tucked away in a dusty, dark corner under lock and (thrown out) key.

Such a secret was (is) not fit for this world of civilization.

Their eyes meet, and Ralph's eyes narrow just slightly, the corners of his mouth curving in the faintest hint of a smile.

It was their secret, their awful, treacherous, amazing (deadly) secret.

Voice

He remembers church bells and black robes, and a hall filled with angelic voices. He remembers black caps and emblems shining with pride. He also remembers shouting and screaming and cries of pain and fear.

Jack puts a hand to his throat. What other sounds could the human voice make? He stares at his spear, then looks beyond the forest to where Ralph's side of the island is. He'll find out.

Accusation

Piggy looks at him with accusing eyes. Ralph does too, and it's driving him crazy. He wants them to stop it, stop looking at him like he's evil, like his actions are bad. It's not; it's not bad at all. All he wants is to have fun (and kill a few pigs). So then…why? He wants them all to shut up. Murderer, their eyes say. Jack grits his teeth and tightens his hold on his spear. He wants them all to shut up.

Sea; 11. Barrier

Sea surrounded their island. It was like a barrier to the outside world. The sea entrapped them and forced them to remain on their island, forced them to endure the displays of savagery Jack sometimes unleashed. Samneric bite back a whimper as Piggy is thrown to his death by the boulder. They watch with large, frightened eyes as his body is pulled out to sea by the waves. At least Piggy is able to escape from the barrier.

Sweet

Roger grimaces as he bites into the overly sweet flesh of a fruit (a mango, maybe?). It is sweet, and he hates sweet things. He spits out the sugary fruit. Time to go hunting again.

Hope

"Stop! Come back!" He yells and screams and waves his arms like a maniac as his eyes stare desperately at the retreating ship.

The ship doesn't answer, doesn't even notice his frantic motions.

His eyes sting and he feels liquid gather at the corners. His throat is hoarse and raw and aching and he can feel the beginning of a small, quiet sob escaping him.

The ship's retreating back almost mocks him as it sails farther and farther away. Ralph turns around and begins gathering up the broken pieces of hope.

Silence; 15. Noise

The silence but not-silence is overwhelming. Simon can feel and hear the chilling quiet of the forest, yet the buzzing, the dizziness in his head that is causing such a racket is too much to ignore. His tongue feels like swollen and dry, and his knees are weak. The pig head is there, staring at him with a crooked grin that seems like it's snarling and smiling at the same time. Simon can see the blood running down in thick, lazy trickles and drying at the base of the head. The flies are still buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, but the rest of the world is too quiet. His head is pounding like someone's hit it with a twenty-pound hammer. He feels his eyes roll to the back of the head and he falls. The pig's crowing laughter echoes in his ears.

Act

Roger's stare is blank and unmoving as he looks at the one-winged moth in his hands. Silver dust coats his finger, remnants of what used to be a wing. The moth twitches feebly, the remaining good wing fluttering, useless, on its back. It can't fly with just one wing, and Roger knows that. He coos softly at the struggling creature and starts plucking out the legs one by one, then the antennas, until only a squirming body remains, still with one transparent wing.

The door creaks open and he whips his head up, quickly closing his fist around the moth and hiding it. The doctor walks in, all white coat and rubber gloves and sterilization. Roger gives her a large smile and crushes the moth in his fist. He smears the remains on the underside of the hospital bed, hiding the act.

Haunting/Caged

Percival Wemys Madison of Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony whimpers in his sleep, curling his small body into a ball. He dreams of running through the forest, lungs screaming for air as branches tear and grope at his form. The creepers are long, spindly snakes with hissing tongues that drip bittersweet venom. His feet hurt from the thorns and his eyes are blinded by the dark. Percival Wemys Madison struggles through thickets of barbs and nettles, biting his lips so as to not let out a sound when they sting him. It's coming, it's coming, it's coming for him and it is terribly frightening and it is going to eat (devour) him when it catches him. He feels tears slid down his grimy cheeks and he isn't sure whether it is in his nightmare world or if it is real.

He wakes up shivering in a cold sweat, feeling the beginnings of a loud wail escape him. Although he is awake, and it is morning (and the other boys are yelling at him to shut up, shut up, shut up, again and again), the thing in his dream is still after him, haunting him.

The Beast(s) are surrounding him.

Black

The flies on the pig's head were black. Simon's eyes zone in on the little buzzing creatures, staring almost transfixed at him. They have already covered the lump of guts to the point where it now resembles a piece of coal. Simon suspects that soon, the pig's head will suffer the same fate as it's guts had.

The flies…now remind him a bit of raisons. Those dried grapes that sometimes dot cakes. He blinks and takes a new look at the Lord of the Flies.

It reminds him of jumping raisons on a pig-head-shaped piece of cake.

Simon grimaces. Ick. Great, he's never going to be able to eat (even look at) a cake ever again now.

He turns away to tell the others before he throws up.

Breaking Point

He's caught another pig. Jack smirks at the bound, wiggling, screeching bag of fat. It's helpless, it's terrified, and it's desperate for a way out. He is alone in the forest and the whining noise of the sow is amplified in his ear, the singing in his mind too loud to ignore. He prods at the animal with his spear. Prod, prod, poke…poke…he grins, his smile turning into the smile of a little boy burning ants on the sidewalk. Poke, again, and the sow is hysterical. For a moment, he wonders if the sow will die from the panic.

He doesn't want to kill it just yet. It's not fun that way. Jack's grin grows wider as he makes little incisions with the sharp point of his spear on the sow's soft underbelly. Slice, slice, goes the skin and the sow is frantic. Snip, snip, and the blood starts pouring out in rivers and lakes, seeping into the earth. Jack raises one drenched finger and takes a tentative lick. It's warm and salty, and really doesn't taste quite as good as the flesh.

He continues cutting away; nothing fatal, but Jack can bet that the wounds hurt. The sow is faint from blood loss and it is not squirming around as much anymore.

He raises his spear high. It is a dramatic pose, and Jack likes to think he is making a sacrifice out of the sow this way.

Snap, snap, goes the sow's skull.

Snap, snap, goes Jack's mind.

Friendship

"Eyes shining, mouths open, triumphant, they savoured the right of domination. They were lifted up: were friends."

Ralph closes his eyes tightly as he feels a shudder (-ing sob) run through him.

They were friends.

When (why) had that changed?

Oh mai! Two submissions in one day! No, not really. It's because, as I said, this is for a journal project I'l doing for Eng. 11

It's a very fun one, but the deadline is harsh. Enjoy and please review!