I thought I was over it
Visions From Inside
By: rainjewel
A/N: Yet another English project
from myself. This is a short story of Ralph from William
Golding's novel, The Lord of the Flies. This book is
the one of the best novels I have ever read in my entire life. If
you haven't read it, I would highly suggest you NOT read
this story and that you promptly check The Lord of the Flies
out at your local library!
~*~
I thought I was over it.
Yet here I am, covered in cold sweat
with my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. My breathing is
ragged, like I've just run a race. The nightmares have come
again. The ones I have about the Beast—the Beast that has my
head.
Hastily I crawl out of bed, but I'm
careful to not wake Angela. She doesn't need to know about
these night sweats. I pad my way to the bathroom and splash some
cold water on my face. My sleep-deprived eyes wander to the
mirror. Quickly I recoil as I catch sight of the reflection in
the glass.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god
My twelve year-old self is staring back
at me, myself from the island. Long, dirty blonde hair with a
sober face. My hand, my 30 year-old hand, flies to my hair.
Short. My hair's always short. I've never let it grow
since the island. I shut my eyes tightly and then cautiously open
one.
No.
He's there. His small, dark,
innocent face stares at me. Simon—oh god, Simon. His small
frame is still covered in the blood we spilled that night oh so
long ago. He gives me a painful smile.
"I told youI told you Ralph.
I told you that you'd get back alright," he says in a
weak, wheezing voice. I stare at him, my unblinking eyes wide
with astonishment. "You remember, don't you? Don't
you remember me?"
"Yes," I whisper, unable to
pull my eyes away from the bleeding figure behind me. "I
remember, Simon."
"You called me batty. You called me
batty, and then you killed me Ralph," Simon says in a
childish matter-of-fact voice. There isn't a trace of regret
or anger in his voice. For some reason that makes it worse.
"I'm sorry Simon, I'm so
sorry Simon, I didn't" I stop. You don't
deliver apologies with excuses.
"It's alright Ralph. I forgive
you," Simon says in that simple childish voice. Blood pours
from his mouth with every word. Involuntarily I run my fingers
along the scar that mars my chest. It's the scar that Jack
gave me.
"Why are you here? Why do you haunt
me?" I say with strained control. It's all I can do to
keep from screaming. I grip the sides of the sink, my hands
crushing the white porcelain.
"I don't haunt you Ralph, you
haunt yourself. You don't think I'm actually here, do
you?" Simon asks, his voice becoming more serious, more
matured, "Everything's inside of us. Realize
that."
"Youyou are not inside of
me!" I whisper hoarsely. Simon sighs, the blood dripping
down his sides. Blood, blood, there's so much blood!
"No! You can't be inside of
me! You're dead Simon! Dead!" I'm screaming
incoherently now, "Why can't you realize
that!"
Simon takes a few steps towards me and
lays his small, bloody hands on my arm.
"What's wrong? Ralph! Ralph
listen to me! Who are you talking too?" he asks.
"Go away! Leave me alone!" I
scream. I reach back with my fist and punch the mirror as hard as
I can. It all but disintegrates at contact. I feel the small
chips of reflective glass shatter under my fist. The shards hit
my flesh, imbedding themselves in my skin.
"Ralph! It's me, Angela! Stop
it!" Someone screams. I whirl around, expecting to see the
small, bloody boy, the boy I murdered.
Green eyes and chestnut hair greet my
view instead. Angela, oh god, it's Angela! I stare at
her in wonder.
"Oh Angie, I'm sorry," I
say quietly, trying to slow my breathing. I'm sorry for a
lot of things.
"Jesus Christ Ralph, you're
bleeding all over! What were you doing?," Angela says. Her
voice is high and thin with worry. I know what she's
thinking. She's thinking I'm nuts.
"Just a walking in my sleep.
Don't worry about it. I'm fine now," I say.
You're lying Ralph. Don't lie to the ones you love.
You've been lying your whole life.
Shut up conscience.
"No you're not," Angela
states with annoyance in her voice.
"Look Angie, I just need some time
alone. Please, go back to bed. I'll clean this up," I
say with a hint of exasperation. Angela's face softens in
the darkness.
"I wish you'd tell me what was
wrong," Angela says with a soft, almost pleading voice.
"Nothing's wrong! Just a
nightmare! Please, please go back to bed! I want to be
alone!" I say with more force then I wanted too. Angela
looks at me with hurt in her eyes, then slowly retreats to the
bedroom. I listen carefully. Eventually I hear the familiar creak
and I know she's gone off to bed.
"I'm fine," I say to the
broken room. Millions of tiny glass shards lie on the tiled floor
like cheap gems. They glitter with a black humor. You're
lying to yourself, Ralph. It's all a bunch of lies Ralph,
and you know it. You're hurting everyone, Ralph. I clench my
teeth, trying to block out the words. Somewhere I hear the devil
laugh.
Slowly I make my way to the kitchen,
trying not to bleed all over our white carpet. I need bandages
and some medicine. And perhaps a good, stiff drink.
I reach into the cupboard and extract
the small first aid kit, placing it on the counter. I begin to
bind my arms, but stop when I hear a whisper. Not again! Please
God, not again. I hear it again, low and fierce. It's soft
at first, but it keeps getting louder with each passing word. No.
Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill
her blood. Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.
The voices are all around me, as if I
was back on the island. Quickly I begin wrapping my hands again.
Ignore it, it's not real. They're not here.
They're not here. They're not here. My own chant
is weak compared to their screams Why isn't this waking
Angela?
"Stop it. Stop it stop it STOP
IT!" I say out loud.
"You stop it," says a small,
quiet voice. Somehow it's able to penetrate the horrid
incantation. Abruptly I turn around, the counter behind me,
searching for the speaker. Jesus, it's him again. This time,
however, I'm not shocked by his appearance.
Kill the pig
"It's not me!" I say to
Simon. He stands alone in the kitchen; the other boys are nowhere
to be found. Still, the incessant chanting continues.
Cut her throat
"You don't know how, do you?
Why can't you understand?" Simon asks me. A tear falls
down his face, making a small clean trail in the drying blood.
What do you have to cry about, Simon?
Spill her blood
"Understand what?" I ask
harshly. If feel no need to be gentle with Simon.
"You're the only one who can
stop your own nightmares. You know that, don't you?"
Simon states simply. Yes, I know that. I know more then you
think, little boy.
"How do I stop it?" I ask him.
My god, I'm talking to a ghost. Maybe I am insane.
"You're no more insane then
you thought me to be Ralph. And I told you, I'm not a
ghost! Accept that and then you'll help yourself,"
Simon says with boyish annoyance.
He's right. He's always right,
no matter how much I don't want to believe it, he's
right. Yes Simon, I know you're not there. I know I'm
only battling my own demons. I-
Silence. The kitchen air is still.
"There you go," Simon says
with a touch of condescension. "Now everything's
better."
No it's not. You're still here
Simon. I want you to leave. I don't want to remember you. I
want to forget you, and I want to forget everything I ever did to
you and what happened on that bloody island.
"Impossible," Simon scoffs at
my thoughts. He folds his arms across his chest and ruby droplets
of blood trickle to his elbows. Phantom blood.
"You never learn. You won't be
able to let go of me, or Jack, or even Piggy until you accept
what happened. You were there that night. You were there for it
all. It happened. None of your little fantasies about the island
being a dream are real. Face it Ralph. You were there."
Simon says. His voice carries a strange passion. Every word he
says rings true, and it pains my heart like a thousand tiny
arrows.
"I don't want to believe
that." I whisper. It's one of the few truthful things
I've said all night.
"It's not a matter of what you
want," Simon says. He takes a few shaky steps, his body
bending bizarrely like a broken thing. I shrink back with horror
at his awful gait. He continues with his gruesome stride until
he's a few steps in front of me. With one bloodied finger he
motions to me to bend down, like he has a secret. I close my eyes
tightly, not wanting to see the horror I created up close, then
reluctantly I comply out of the guilt in my heart.
"It's a matter of the
truth," Simon whispers into my ear. I snap open my eyes and
straighten my body.
Gone. He's gone.
"Well, what a great teacher you
are, young Simon. Spout your petty advice and then run away. You
are nothing but a child," I say to the spot where Simon
stood. There are a few blood droplets that stain the floor.
Lies. That's all they are, just
lies, lies, and more lies. I'm simply lying to myself,
convinced that lies will make me strong. Simon's right. I
need to face the truth. But it's simply too hard to do so
tonight.
Just ignore it and it'll go away.
Yeah, right.
Finally I make my way back to the
bedroom. Angie's sleeping on her side, a worried look on her
face. I quickly kiss her forehead, then crawl back into bed.
"Be at peace Simon. Be at
peace" I whisper to the darkness.
Oh yes, I know I'm lying to myself.
Simon won't rest until I'm at peace with myself.
I don't need some stupid apparition to tell me that. I
don't need you, Simon. I don't need anyone.
I have me, myself, and I.