For an entire month, the fair-haired boy known as Ralph had gone without being touched. Not in any considerably inappropriate way, but the casual gestures he had grown accustomed to throughout the twelve years of his life. For instance, simple pats on the shoulder or friendly handshakes were way beyond anything the adolescent could imagine. Any recollections of what human contact felt like were seemingly gone from his memory.

Suspicion had developed in his head in recent weeks, driving him into periods of silent speculation: What if the other boys knew how he was feeling? They too must be going through the same thing that he was. They had to be longing for the comfort of each other's touch as well, right? It was when he arrived at those thoughts that Ralph found himself beginning to understand the manners of Jack and his hunters. Unlike him and the few others who had chosen to remain civilized, the hunters did not appear to be miserable. Fright wiggled into fair boy's brain like a parasite, latching itself onto t he introspection he'd faithfully devoted his time to. Would his need for human contact drive him into savagery, just like the other boys? Would he begin to resemble them because of his need for physical belonging and happiness?

The parasite, with grooves of persuasion hooking onto every refusal the boy could toss out, began its conquest. It pumped venom of unwanted ideas into Ralph's mind. The first round of sickly poison tried to convince him that Jack was not vicious in any way, shape, or form. The fear tried to prove that in spite of the violence that escorted his actions, Jack was merely seeking out what Ralph was craving. This concept was so outrageous that he could hardly believe it, but the leech-like notions of fear concealed any skepticism he held within himself.

Later, as if to support the efforts of the parasite, Maurice clued him in on some information about his tribe. The hunts they carried out were not just a way to get food. If the goal had been to fill their stomachs, then they would have done so with less brutality. But that was not the case. The contentment was not directed towards their hunger, but a desire for contact. They always leapt upon the pigs together, letting their elbows touch and their hands collide for a chance to tear apart the flesh of the swine.

"It's subtle, you know? We all just sort of smash into each and act like we don't notice it." Maurice looked away in an attempt to save himself from the teasing he expected from Ralph, but the fair boy remained straight faced. "No one admits to liking it…In that way, I mean. Everyone talks about how great it feels to kill and be powerful…but…"

Maurice paused and Ralph raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. After a moment of silence, he grew impatient of waiting for a response.

"But what?"

"But I really think we just like each other."

Ralph squinted.

"How so?"

Embarrassment spread across Maurice's cheekbones in patches of red.

"…Like brothers, of course. What way did you think I meant? I already told you, we're not like that."

From the way he emphasized the last word, it was obvious that he was lying.

Ralph soon discovered there was still more to the mannerisms of the savages than what he'd learned from Maurice. It turned out that Jack's tribe steered their lingering displeasure on the sow below them. The need to grab and grope had been converted to malice that they inflicted upon the fat animal. They simply could not help it. And as far as Ralph was concerned, it had always been that way with them. They'd been aware of their feelings and engaged in the bloody therapy sessions since they'd arrived on the island. First, Roger had driven his spear into the rear of the pig. The following hunt, Harold had gone so far as to tear the ear of the animal off while it was still alive. The most recent one, however, had been the worst. Several boys had launched themselves at the pig and attempted to rip its limbs off its body, but only succeeded in dislocating its joints. They found reassurance, and in some cases, even sexual satisfaction from their sadistic behavior.

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Once the parasite had achieved its first goal, it proceeded to deliver more toxins into Ralph's body. This time, it released a serum laced with inappropriate urges into his system. He often found himself looking at Jack, letting his eyes follow each sharp contour of his body. There were those broad shoulders, conditioned from the hunts, which lacked even the slightest slope. From there, his sturdy collarbone lead to a set of ribs that did not protrude like Ralph's (for he had grown very thin), but were concealed under layers of muscle. The fair boy's eyes usually lowered themselves to the outline of Jack's abdomen, distinctly marked by the sculpted stomach of an athlete. Occasionally, Ralph permitted his gaze to go even further until the thin blonde hair under Jack's navel became coarser and dark in a line towards his waistband. Ralph immediately fought the thoughts in his head and forced himself to look away. After all, he wasn't that desperate…was he?

For as long as he could remember, Ralph had always liked girls. He and his old mates back at school would waste hours talking about them. Heck, the fair boy even had a girlfriend for two whole weeks! However, her name escaped him, as well as how she acted around him. Was she sweet and kind? Did she laugh a lot? Did any of those little quirks actually matter? Ralph realized that he truly didn't care about what kind of person Rebecca was, not at this point in time, anyway. What mattered were her hips, her shape, and the quality of her face. The respect he had once shown her dissolved: all the savage in him cared about was physicality. Being polite and chivalrous were limits of culture. Ralph desperately tried to ignore that fact, but his fear prevented it. He was drifting away from society's boundaries whether he wanted to or not. There had to be some way to grasp back onto the rules he'd been raised to follow…