Lord Of The Flies: My Version

Red And Black, Blood and Dirt.

Twigs and branches snapped under his bare feet, blood forming up like a small coat over his toes, his nails with a thick layer of dirt clogging them up. Scratches pulse on his chest as he breathes heavily, sprinting for cover, running from the claws of his own tribe. The creepers are heavy but he breaks thorough them, ignoring the cuts which seem to consume his once handsome face. Finally, he can hear their yells no longer, he dives into the undergrowth. Samneric were right, they were after him. His friends, his tribe, the people who he had lead. They were after him, and they were going to kill him.

Roger's double ended spear lay at his feet, he was squatting down, bent over and pondering the upcoming hunt. Jack was weak, all bark and no bite, too scared to kill a human, too proud to admit defeat. Roger smiled the smile of one with grim pleasure. The grin of a lion as it gets ready to pounce on it's prey. Roger was ready.

Jack stood before his uneasy group of savages, his mask covering up his gloomy discontent.

“Everyone, be ready!” the chief yelled.

“Ready for what? He's one big 'un, it'll be easy.” Roger cut in.

Jack ignored Roger, continuing with his intended to be monologue.

“ We are going to hunt him down! Grab your spears and stay alert.”

“Stay alert? It's just Ralph”

Finally, he could take it no longer

“Shut up! He is the old chief and he can fight, he is dangerous. Also call for me if you find him. It's too risky to hunt him without your chief,” Jack announced, “We'll light a fire, we'll find him. Then I'll do him and we can have fun again”

Yet still a wave of unease enveloped the savages, Ralph was now dangerous. Some heads turned ever so slightly from their chief in power to another figure. One with an aura of danger, but at the same time, a sense of protection. Crouching down, spears in his hands, yet now silent under the chief's orders.

Ralph had found a small place in the forest, surrounded by vines he lay in the deep cool night, with no shelter but the green around him. A feeling of warm safekeeping and even familiarity surrounds Ralph as he crouches, pulling the vines back, ready to hide for the next few hours.

Heat woke Ralph. Heat which didn't burn like the sun did on the Island, but another kind. Ralph woke up to the scratching, slicing claws of flame. Ralph burst through the cover of vines, picking up foliage as he went, breaking into a sprint.

Ralph needed to get far, far away from the fire.

“Roger, follow me”. The chief called for him.

Roger followed, grasping the shaft of his one ended spear with an look of confidence. Jack and Roger ran thorough the remaining creepers, around the gaping mouth of heat and flame which had eaten up most of the Islands flora.

“Where is he?”

“We'll find him. We'll do him in.” Roger mumbled

Then Ralph burst out of the bushes.

Before Jack could call for the rest of the hunters he was on the floor, whirled and punched around by Ralph's fists. Driven by fury, resentment, and hatred Jack was knocked once and once again down into the earth by Ralph.

Ralph picked up a large rock and swung it over his head. That's when Roger swung his spear. It's shaft hit Ralph straight in the back sending him writhing in pain on the floor.

Jack moans, trying to recover himself and the dark figure pulls back his spear for the finishing blow.

A burning piglet, squealing and screeching from pain bursts through the bushes and disorients Roger just long enough for Ralph to get up and run.

Ralph knew that if he stopped running he would die, so he just kept going.

“Why isn't he calling for help?” Jack was worried

“Roger will be fine on his own”

And that, Jack recognized, was the problem.

He ran to the one place they wouldn’t be. Castle Rock.

Standing near the cliff, holding one of the spears Samneric had dropped Ralph waited for Roger to arrive. After what seemed like an eternity, Roger burst out of the bushes to meet the shaft or Ralph's spear.

Scuffling, stabbing, dodging rolling. Roger is above of Ralph, lifting his weapon up high, ready for the kill this time.

The end makes a squishing sound as it breaks through the skin, blood pours out from the wound, covering both of them with gore. Roger gapes, his eyes wide with disbelief. He regurgitated blood, letting it spill all over Ralph's face.

Ralph staggers backwards and sat down, breathing heavily and gasping for breath. Roger's warm, thick blood was smeared over his chest, mixing with his sweat, becoming a part of him. He shudders and kicks the corpse over the edge. Over the cliff, far away from Ralph. He looks up from the cliff edge and his heart stops. In the horizon he can see a ship rushing towards the Island and the giant twisting, twirling tower of smoke which bent to the will of the wind.

As it got closer, Ralph saw it's flag, it's colors, of which he had been taught to hate with all his heart and soul. But honestly, he didn't care anymore. He truly had no hate left that he was willing to give.

Sighing, Ralph sits down with the fragments of Piggy's conch lying still on the cliff. He brushes some hair that he picked up by accident from where he hid from the night. It's dark, thin and long, and covered in Roger's blood.

He lies back, watching as the ship gets closer and closer to the island, he can't the roar of the fire , the yells of savages. In silence he sits there in the remains of the Conch, his conch. The boat gets closer and closer, but as the enemy draws nearer all he can feel is relief that it's over. Finally, after what seemed like years, he would be safe. There was silence, no screams at night no crying litte 'un's, no crackling of fires.

All is quiet at Castle Rock.

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I chose the point in the story when Ralph is first starting to be hunted by the other because from there it would have been much easier to alter the end. By giving a different, more obvious build up of conflict between Roger and Ralph and finishing it differently. I ALTERED the end of Lord Of The Flies instead of completely changing it because I believe that although the end could have been better the main idea of it was exactly what it needed. I added in Roger's death because that way it show's loss of innocence on both side's and not only with the hunters. It also conveys that the more malicious figure of them all was destroyed at great cost. It adds on to the WW2/Nazi era metaphor which Golding created.