Blog 8 (Simon's Perspective)

It's so hot and I'm so thirsty and the sign of Jack's moral corruption is right here before me, covered with flies and laughing at me. The sweat is trickling down my body just like the blood is trickling down the pig's head. The Lord of the Flies has told me what I already know. The beast cannot be hunted and killed because the beast is in all of us. It is that dark place in our heart that is usually hidden by civilization's rules and laws. But out here on this island we are letting the beast get loose and I can't stop it. I'm just one little boy that the beast is going to play with.

I want to tell everybody that the beast is not real. I saw the dead man with his parachute tangled up in the rocks. I saw the wind fill the parachute and pull the rag doll body up. I heard the moaning of the wind that blew the rag doll body back down. I've got to tell the boys that they should not be afraid of the imaginary beast on the mountain. I've got to tell the boys that they should be afraid of the beast that is swelling up inside of them. I hear the screams and the chant coming from the beach. "Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" Those words are calling the beast out. Dead people. Dead pigs. Decay. Lord of the Flies. We have got to remain steadfast in the face of all this evil.

I'm getting closer to the boys. I have to tell them. "The beast isn't real," I try to say out loud, but my voice is tremulous, a whisper not a shout. They're running towards me. Maybe they're happy to see me. But their spears are raised and their eyes are blind with fear and hatred.