Ralph was a curiosity. The golden boy, who concerned himself more with that damn signal fire than having any fun.

(More like, more interested in the fire than he was in Jack.)

He spent most of his time diving in the pool, or working at the shelters with that batty Simon, and cradling his precious conch. Or talking with that insufferable Piggy.

So Jack hunted. It was something he was good at, something that gave him a thrill, something that distracted him from the golden boy back at the shelters.

He only aimed to please, to impress. But when he couldn't kill a pig, he was weak, and when he did, he was irresponsible.

Jack pretended not to care, and because he wouldn't dare hurt Ralph, his golden boy, he took it out on Piggy. Who had given him the right to scold Jack, anyways? Who had given him the right to talk to Ralph, as if the two of them were friends?

And Jack knew he couldn't be Ralph's friend, could barely stand to look at the golden boy, yet thirsted for it all the same. Couldn't look at his mere perfection and know that he was the son his parents always wanted, know that he would never be the best as long as his golden boy was around.

And he hated Ralph for it, yet knew deep down he couldn't hate the boy, knew he cared too much.

But Jack wanted to have fun, and he wanted Ralph to have fun, to see the weight lifted off his golden boy's shoulders and to see him smile again.

So the chief invited Ralph to his new tribe, but he refused. He wouldn't leave his conch, and his Piggy, and his rules. So they knocked out two problems: the conch was smashed to bits and the fat boy pulled out to sea, his blood staining the rocks.

And the rules? Well, they had fallen apart a long time ago.

So his golden boy ran. Ran from Castle Rock and the painful truth crashing down around him. And Jack chased him, for a little ways. And despite the spear in his hand, he couldn't help but want to pull the golden boy close and kiss his soft hair, whisper it wasn't too late.

But maybe it was.

So Roger sharpened a stick at both ends, and the hunt began, Jack thinking that his golden boy couldn't run again with his head on a pike.