The Lady and the Flies

Epilogue

Ok, so I know many of you wanted an epilogue so I just couldn't say no! It's not my best writing, but I'm very busy right now. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! It's kinda sad, kinda happy, kinda confusing and as always a cliffhanger hehehehe. But here it is!

xoxo

NeverlandsDreamer

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Roger stood by the edge of the boat, hands gripping the cold metal railing. His knuckles were white as if gripping onto the railing could keep his mind from falling into the pit of guilt. They had been rescued, but the island still lived in them, pulling at them. Roger snarled out at the frothy waves below. Incriminating tears trekked down his pale cheeks. There was a contortion of unfathomable pain, so much pain, pain that could break such a creature as Roger. Never had there been such a sad thing as Roger, a boy who tore his own conscience to shreds and found it was now too late to recover.
Roger snarled again, but there was little anger. He looked like some wounded animal trying feebly to conceal its weakness. His grey eyes became tinted with madness as the waves slurped along the edge of the ship.

Roger tried to straighten himself. to raise his crumpled shoulders, but he only trembled with quiet tears. "get out of here, you bloody poof!" He said to himself. Frustrated by his obstinance, Roger cried in a burst of vicious exasperation and threw his fists in the air.

"I am your Second-in-Command!" he screamed, turning his head furiously to meet the closed door of Jack's room, chains lines its panels. "You listen to me or I hurt you! Don't you understand? Do you not remember how it works? You listen to me or I hurt you!" words spilled out of his mouth like poison from a bottle, he was saying all the words he was to afraid to on the island.

Roger broke, subtly at first. His eyes grew wide and dark, his mouth twisting as though stifling a scream. But then his expression collapsed, his stoic shield of indifference melting into anguish. He wept loudly, crying into the dark night, as he dug his fists at his eyes. But the tears continued to come, rolling down his cheeks and leaving crooked little trails.

Roger wiped his eyes. "I'm not...I'm not what they say I am!"

"I'm not a murderer," Roger stammered through his tears. He lifted himself from the railing, suddenly ashamed, and turned himself away again. "They think it. You think it! You all think I'm some kind of mindless brute."

"I'm not!" The words were a whisper, so quiet, like a breath of relief. But then came cruel, dubious laughter, and Roger turned back to the ocean. He was crying again.

"I'm not? Then why do I do it? Why am I this way—why have I always been this way? Why did I kill baby birds and cats and dogs? Why did I torture my little brothers? Why have I always hated normal games, kids' games? Why did I let Simon die? Why did I not stop you when I knew it was him? I could've saved him—" a spasm of sobs interrupted him.

But Roger kept going, talking to himself and leaking words of madness.

"And I killed Piggy—what about that? I lifted the boulder on him! And did I care? Not at all! Do I care now? No!"

"A mistake, wasn't it?" Roger smiled grimly. "Sure, a mistake. Whatever you wanna say to help you sleep, right kid."

Roger laughed. "And then the torture—god, how many have I tortured? And Johnny, that fucking idiot. And I still don't care. I don't give a shit. But I should. I know I should. And I—" Roger stopped himself, swallowing thickly, as his eyes glazed over in what looked to be woeful longing. "—I want to care. I want to hate myself. But I can't. I can't hate myself for what I've done. I try to sit and think and reflect on why it's bad, why the blood is bad. But I feel...happy with it. I feel content. And then I know I'm a monster. I'm the Beast. And I wish you would do away with me."