Lord of the Flies, Alternate ending

Chapter 9 (A view to a death)

The beginning of the chapter is still the same as the original, By Golding. The story changes towards the end after simon finds the beast and runs back to tell the others.

Over the island the build-up of clouds continued. Nothing prospered but the flies who blackened their lord and made the spilt guts look like a heap of glistening coal. Even when the vessel broke in Simon’s nose and the blood gushed out they left him alone, preferring the pig’s high flavour.
With the running of the blood Simon’s fit passed into the weariness of sleep. He lay in the mat of creepers. He turned over, drew his feet under him and laid hold of the creepers to pull himself up.
When the creepers shook, the flies exploded from the guts with a vicious note and clamped back on again. Simon got to his feet. The Lord of the Flies hung on his stick like a black ball. Simon spoke aloud to the clearing.

“What else is there to do?”

Nothing replied. Simon turned away from the open space and crawled through the creepers. He walked, staggering sometimes with his weariness but never stopping. The usual brightness was gone from his eyes and he walked with a sort of glum determination. He found his legs were weak and his tongue gave him pain all the time.  He pushed himself forward and the wind came again, stronger. Simon saw a humped thing suddenly sit up on the top and look down at him. He hid his face, and toiled on.
The flies had found the figure too. The life-like movement would scare them off for a moment so that they made a dark cloud round the head. Then as the blue material of the parachute collapsed the corpulent figure would bow forward, sighing, and the flies settle once more. Simon felt his knees smack the rock. He crawled forward and soon he understood. The tangle of lines showed him the mechanics of this parody; he examined the white nasal bones, the teeth, the colours of corruption. He saw how pitilessly the layers of rubber and canvas held together the poor body that should be rotting away. Then the wind blew again and
the figure lifted, bowed, and breathed foully at him. Simon knelt on all fours and was sick till his stomach was empty. Then he took the lines in his hands; he freed them from the rocks and the figure from the wind’s indignity.
At last he turned away and looked down at the beaches. Even at that distance it was possible to see that most of the boys—perhaps all of the boys—were there. So they had shifted camp then, away from the beast. As Simon thought this, he turned to the poor broken thing that sat stinking by his side. The beast was harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as possible. He started down the mountain and his legs gave beneath him. Even with great care the best he could do was a stagger.

“Bathing,” said Ralph,
“that’s the only thing to do.”

Piggy was inspecting the looming-sky through his glass.

Ralph dived into the pool. Piggy took off his glasses, stepped primly into the water and then put them on again. Ralph came to the surface and squirted a jet of water at him.

“Mind my specs,” said Piggy.
“If I get water on the glass I got to get out and clean ’em.”

Ralph squirted again and missed. He laughed at Piggy, expecting him to retire meekly as usual and in pained silence. Instead, Piggy beat the water with his hands.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “D’you hear?”

Furiously he drove the water into Ralph’s face.

“All right, all right,” said Ralph.
“Keep your hair on.”

Piggy stopped beating the water.