the pig was dead. it's blood souring the soil, spilling into the dirt. poisoning not just the grass, but the boys who held the corpse. especially, the boy who held the dagger.

the cheers of the group echoed along the shore, loud over the waves that lapped at the sandy shores. chanting over and over, voices tingling with bright, hot excitement.

it divided quickly upon nearing the fire. or, what was left of it. Ralph had a cloud over his face, a new expression most of the boys here hadn't ever seen. beside him was Simon and {{user}}, further back was Piggy. all four had ran up the bank of the island, hoping that what they feared wasn't true. it was, of course, and the fire was dead. as was the chance to go home.

it had been a ship, passing by. there had been no fire to drawn them near. and who's fault was that? the hunters, of which had been told to keep the fire alight. it had been Jack's promise. Ralph, the chief, had exploded upon them once the crowd had quieted.

with everything going on, it was piggy who would be beat down on.

After being confronted, jack could not stand the wrong he was in. piggy'a mouth had opened, and down he went upon Jack's fist to his stomach. Jack stood over him, snarling.

"now you shut yer mouth, piggy!" he snapped, voice sharp and tinged. his eyes narrowed, glaring over the crowd momentarily. below him, piggy gapped up, squinting his eyes at the blur of figure above. his specs having been thrown from his face with the impact.

"you ain't got nothin' good to say!" Jack spat.