The Spark

The Lord of the Flies

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Lord Huron - The Night We Met

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I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

I walked through the jungle, stumbling over a rock and a tree root.

"Simon?" I called. "Simon?" Shadows stretched low across the ground and a low buzzing filled the air. I swatted at a thick cloud of flies, cringing when I hit them. I tried to remember which way the forest clearing was, but something seemed a little off.

The once open and sunlit path was now shrouded in thick, dark shadows. Mysterious dark red splashes were splattered against the ground and tree trunks. The air seemed to vibrate with danger and anticipation, not at all like the peaceful path I'd remembered. I shivered. Surely I'd taken a wrong turn?

The heat was becoming thick and suffocating. A pulse began to beat somewhere in my head, and a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over me, nearly knocking me out. I steadied myself against a tree, breathing steadily. When was the last time I'd had something to eat or drink? The hot air swam before my eyes, turning everything before me into a hazy kaleidoscope of green, brown, blue, and black. Who knew that the sun could be so vicious even behind a thick wall of clouds?

"Simon?" I called, stumbling through the forest. Another wave of heat engulfed me, and I almost fell over. Stopping, I unbuttoned the cuffs of my sleeves to let some air in; I didn't fancy taking my shirt off.

The trees became closer together, casting more shadows and looking more and more ominous. The buzzing of flies got louder and the dark red splashes more numerous. I gulped; I hoped to God I would find Simon soon so I could leave. I pushed past a couple more trees, pushed some foliage out of the way, and gasped.

The ghastly sight of a decapitated pig's head on a stick greeted me. Thick, black flies buzzed in and around the head, flying in and out of the pig's nostrils and mouth. Blood dropped down and crusted on the stick it was mounted on.

Horrified, I covered my eyes and squeezed them shut, hoping that it would go away, but when I opened them, the frightful image was still there. A sour taste began to rise in my throat. I turned to a nearby bush and threw up, my body heaving violently. A diet of nothing but a bit of fruit and meat didn't bring up a lot, but I still shut my eyes so I wouldn't see the bile. When there was nothing left, I started to dry heave. Bright spots began to wink in front of my eyes and my sides ached from the effort.

Once I was done, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and sank to my knees, suddenly exhausted. I hadn't thrown up like that since I'd gotten the stomach flu when I was six. Groaning, I made myself get up and look for Simon. That's when I saw the small figure of a boy passed out next to the pig's head. A trickle of blood streamed from his nose.

"Simon!" I gasped, scrambling on all fours towards him. "Simon, are you okay?" I gently lifted his head onto my lap and brushed his hair away from his forehead and laid a hand on it. He was burning with a fever.

"Simon, please wake up, please," I begged quietly. The boy blinked, and groggily reached up a hand to wipe his eyes.

"Y/n...?" he groaned sleepily. Tears of relief sprang to my eyes. I didn't know what I'd do with myself if he was dead.

"Simon, thank goodness," I whispered happily. "What happened to your nose?"

"It just bleeds sometimes," Simon said weakly, trying to sit up. Then he lay back down again, bringing a hand to his head and grimacing in pain. "My head hurts."