Burning your Alibi.

Chapter Four: Painted faces and Long hair.

The sun was burning hot today, yet the sea had a sweet breeze of air to it.

There were newly built sandcastles on the beach, boys of young ages wandering around it, I had not finished the huts.

Yet I failed to have the motivation to finish them up alone.

I've noticed a lot of changes in the past few days. The boy Percivial, one with dusty hair, won't stop crying in a shelter, he cried for two days straight. Like he was going insane.

A few others look dazed, sunburnt and terrified.

Piggy not in that bunch, who looked the exact same as he did beforehand, his choppy brown hair stuck to his forehead and his attitude either bratty or whiny. Complaining about the island, or his lack of a shell.

Jack mainly has been hunting, spending his entire time fighting to find a pig, mainly taking him days on end, still unable to get a lick of meat.

Yet he's still trying, getting more frustrated with himself in the meanwhile.

All of the littluns have spent their days pushing each other in games on the beach, or taking all the fruit they may get. They tried to keep quiet about the unforeseeable terrors that the one boy spoke about. The word 'snake', not mentioned anymore.

I'm sure they only obeyed the conch because I blew it, now with that leadership responsibility weighing on me for these many boys. That I have to look out for.

Rodger has gone batty from what I can tell, if he hasn't been that way from the start.

His face was filled with malice, some sort of insane hunger etched into the curves of his skin, giving him dark eyebags. His cheeks sunken in, and his pupils a wide dark color.

I see his hands, always twitching, his eyebrows almost always raised.

He hasn't eaten with our group in a long time, which makes me wonder what he may be eating besides berries that keeps him so seemingly fit.

For no matter where I look I can't find a carcass of a pig, meaning he hasn't eaten one. I'm unable to find the mulberry birthmark boy as well.

I think I might mention The Coral Island. That book is my favorite.

The more I'm on this island the more I think about it. I've come to love the fact I'm here, along with my group being with Jack, as if it's like the book.

Without Peterkin, who I would envision as Simon.

I used to read that book before bed, hiding under my blanket with my flashlight, my other hand holding the book. I loved that book so deeply I would beg for copies of it, ones other than the one I had.

It wasn't a popular book amongst my friends, for I seemed to be the only reader.

I like to hide it now, that urge to babble on like piggy when he was talking, but just about the book. I have so much memory over it, stored to tell, but I only ever hide and mutter it to myself.

As for why I like to draw, I find myself trying to capture the characters in my head, putting them down on paper. Like they could be my friend.

I believe this might be just like the story, great and filled with adventure, it's a good island.

My neck starts with a shudder, snapping from my spiel, my spine jolting as I look over with a start, seeing in the distance, by the beach.

Rodgers' eyes were on me, if only for a moment before he turned away, seeing him loom in the creepers, eyeing a littlun.