Lord of the Flies: Learning How to Love [UNFINISHED]

Dubious Feelings

Since the return of civilization, everything had changed for the better. Well, almost everything. Jack's sleeping schedule was primarily nonexistent. The nightmares stopped after May, his birth month, but the internal dialogue was stuck inside him. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't smart enough to stay on the honor roll. He wasn't fit enough to join any sports in school. The best thing he could do was let his thoughts loose through music and poetry. Jack wasn't the best at writing short stories or monologues as they required in school, but he could sure incorporate them into a song of some sort. Singing silenced the internal altercations. Nothing else could put them to rest as far as he knew.

Taking the time to converse with Maurice the night prior lifted his confidence level a bit. He hadn't felt that much importance since April. Maurice, the second oldest of the choir, had always been a "best friend" to Jack. Even if they didn't talk for long intervals (these could last several weeks) their bond was still strong. Jack had this bond with other members of his original choir, but they had been scattered around. The only original choir members left were Jack, Maurice, Bill, and Roger. Roger hadn't joined this school's choir, and frankly, nobody but Maurice had close contact with him. The remaining chorus was never heard from again. Only God knew where everyone else ended up... Jack wanted nothing to do with this. The island was dead to him. 

Everything about the island except for Ralph. 

He couldn't think about anything without incorporating Ralph into his line of thought. It was obviously an internal obsession. The idea of Ralph was the only thing that kept Jack Merridew sane. 

What did it matter? It was Friday. All that was left to do was get through the half-day.

Jack hadn't slept much, maybe a good four hours. He and Maurice ended up sitting outside the main entrance to the dorms, under the beautiful greenhouse and moonlight, rambling on about choir. For a while, Jack had distanced himself from everyone, so it was nice to carry on a conversation again. Weird to get used to, but nice.

He woke himself up by unintentionally rolling off his debilitated bed, causing his notebooks to sprawl across the glossy floor. His foot had kicked the bedside table in which they lay. He tried to finish the rest of his schoolwork the night before. Guess it'd have to wait for study hall. His notes were out of all their binders, which struck the curiosity to look at them. His Onsa Elegance watch read 5:46. Four minutes to screw-off, ten minutes to get ready.

Above the mass of loose-leaf paper held a crucifix necklace. He received this on the first day of school. It was wooden, gilded with silver, with a black string tied at a knot on both ends. He cringed, remembering his first day, and set it on the bedside table. The papers were "organized" so the oldest ones were on top. Those were mostly written in deep, black ink, with terrible drawings on them. Each of the papers was dated. He picked one up, eyes focused at the top left corner. 4/4/1952. He moved his focus to the content. Nothing educational. In fact, there was nothing. He picked up a pile, shuffled it back together, and set it beside him. His neck made a disgusting crackle when he looked at his watch. Two minutes.

Notes varied from math to language arts. Up until papers dated August, he found that most "notes" were full of self-indulgence. Drawings of crying faces, flames, the letter x, and most horribly, the gift for the beast. He didn't think or feel anything about it at first glance, and it stayed that way. He shuffled the rest of the papers together and stood up quickly, resulting in a small interval of dizziness. He closed his sky-blue eyes tightly and opened them again. Not as if that did anything, but it helped him refocus.

After getting dressed into his uniform: A white, long-sleeved polo shirt, navy blue sweater vest with the school's emblem on the left breast, khakis, and a cap he never wore, it was around time to start walking out. He usually met up with the rest of the choir, but on half-days like these, he went alone. Pondering his lack of friends, he ran his slim fingers through his messy red hair, sighed, and kicked the door open. His books were left in the choir room purposefully the night before, so he didn't have to worry about them in the morning. The binders he kept in his dorm were for classes he didn't have today. Everything was going smoothly, and the day hadn't even begun. The notes, however, he wished he hadn't looked at.