The plane went down
in uncharted territory.
The growing terrors of war and destruction
planted in the back of their minds.

Hopelessly deserted on an island
with nothing to guide them through the days
except for Ralph, a fire, and a shell
and a general sense of order.
It was all fun and games at first.
An island of all boys
with no grown-ups to dictate their lives.
Unrestricted liberty.
As the days grow longer and the boys grow hungrier
no food, no water, nothing to be found
other than the fruit and pigs.
The latter of which captivates Jack's interest.

As the nights grow longer and the boys grow restless
stories begin to form from
misconstrued glances and old folklore
blending together to form what is the Beast.
Day by day
Jack attracts boys as flesh does flies.
He builds a tribe of hunters
tearing their society apart.
Day by day
humanity devolves into primitive beings
with cruelty and evil taking the place of
compassion, logic, and love.

The gentle fabric of civilization
how easily it can be torn
yet how difficult it is to sew
it back together once damage is done.

Ralph will try and try but once it's been ripped
it'll never mend the way it was before
with a beast plaguing their every thought
and a hunters' rebellion stirring within.

Feast on the pig.
Celebrate.
For there is a new leader:
Jack.
And a new victim:
Fear.

Fear.
The boys fear the Beast.
But the Beast isn't real--Simon taught us that--
or is it?
The Beast embodies the fear
It symbolizes the evil
It personifies human nature
Which makes it the perfect enemy.
But is it possible to conquer fear?

Feast.
Feast on the pig and dance.
Dance.
The deadly dance of the hunters
brings upon the death of Simon
in nothing but a misunderstanding occurring at the wrong time.

Simon knew.
He knew all about the Beast.
He knew all about the tribe and the nature of man
all inside his tortured mind.
Simon knew the truth
and paid with his life.

Piggy knew.
He knew something was wrong.
He knew that the fighting needed to stop.
He knew the value of order in society
even when he was looked down upon.
But when Piggy tried to stand up for righteousness
he was knocked right down
to his fate.
His death.
Fire.
Fire!

Run, Ralph, run!
Run from the flames.
Run from the little boys with the sharpened sticks.
Run from their hollow cries and threatening shouts.
They're coming for you, Ralph.
They're coming for you mercilessly like you're a simple pig.
To them, you're no more than a pig.
To them, you're better off dead.
To them, you’re just in the way of a better little world.

Murder!
Blood everywhere!
The heart acts like a drum keeping rhythm to the dance of the hunt, aimed assaults and open wounds and a foot-chase with heavy breathes and cramps shoved aside to survive; and there's no ally to help just the hunters and hunted and the emergence of human nature the innate instinct to kill or be killed; as the fire rages on and on across the island and the animals squeal in terror as hunters cry and charge on and on and until there’s nowhere left to run and nowhere left to hide just the inevitable end when society breaks down to atoms and man shows his true colors; Ralph hits the ground without the sound braced for the end covered face while the hunters close in with a snarl and wide-eyes, their pointed spears raised for the kill, the biggest prize of all, poised for murder as they summon the courage to act in cold blood; the spears are primed to flush life from Ralph’s soul…

There's a man in a white uniform.
A neat man, an orderly man
in command of a cruiser anchored at sea.
Here to pick them up.

He saw the smoke.
He saw the smoke.
The smoke.
So Ralph was right all along.

It's time to go home.
And grieve the loss of Simon and Piggy
and the death of Innocence.

It was just a game, wasn't it?
Just some British schoolboys fooling around,
waiting to be rescued.
Yes.
Just a game.