Savage. Savage. Savage. He's a savage. He was one of those island boys, they scorned. Did you hear? At the ripe age of eleven, they began murderers. Murderer, murderer, murderer. Savage. Beast. Savage. Savage. I was a savage. A beast. A monster.

That's what everyone in this damned place knew me as. One of those island boys. Inhuman. Warped. Twisted. Everywhere I went, their eyes were. Prying, looking, scorning, watching. Savage, they would whisper. That's what I was. That's all I was ever going to be.

It had been months, maybe even years. I had lost count. It had been so long since I had been on the island, since I had felt the hot sun on my skin and the war paint smothering my cheeks. The urges were still there. The bloodlust. It lay just under my skin, watching, waiting. I needed an escape. Somewhere they wouldn't know me, couldn't judge me. Somewhere wasn't a savage. Somewhere I could claim back a scrap of humanity.

That's how I wound up here, in London. My mother had shipped me off to a private school, to help me 're-establish a civilized nature'. I had laughed dryly at her words. Nature wasn't civilized. It was savage. What a pig she was. What a pig. Kill the pig. Kill the pig, slit her throat. My own blood pulsed beneath my skin, hungry for the power, the… the…

Spill her blood.

The words echoed in my mind, and for a fleeting moment, I was back on the island, a spear in my bloodstained hand and a dead sow at my feet. No. Stop it. Stop it. You're not on the island any more. Stop it. Stop it.

I forced open eyes I was unaware I had clamped shut. I was immediately flooded with light; I was in a one-person bed, donned with red sheets. It was a bright room, with a wardrobe, desk, and a nightstand all resting on the walls. In front of my bed, I noticed, was a large painting of a forest in the spring time. Nothing like the island, I though. No, stop it!

Savage, savage, savage. Where am I, anyway…?

Oh, I remember! This skinny old lady had brought my here, saying that I was going to be sleeping here during my stay. That's right, Mother had dropped me off last night. I gently rubbed my arm, feeling the skin beneath my long-sleeved shirt. The stinging pain was an immediate comfort. I rolled over, looking for a clock, when I noticed a bed adjacent to the one I lay in, which looked as if it was spelt in until recently. I spotted a clock on the wall, which read out a clear 10:15 as I rubbed my eyes to look at it.

I vaguely remembered the lady saying something about breakfast, but the thought was lost as I saw the door handle turn. Though, when I saw who it was, my heart simultaneously stopped and sped up at the same time. Ralph.