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He looks so peaceful, basking under the glow of the night sky. The world seems to stop when all that matters is the lazy lapping of waves against his body. If entranced by the total chaos surrounding him, one may not even notice his severed flesh and battered wounds. One may not even notice that, with every inhale of the ocean, he drifts further towards the horizon. But he is not alone. Surrounding his body is a large group. Among them, both unbearable wailing and overwhelming silence are exchanged. All of them stood hypnotised by the glistening of the waves.
Ralph, who once held perfect composure, shoots a quick glance at his bloodied palms and the floodgates open. He who once grieved in silence now begins to bawl. His sobs are so intense they draw shudders from his chest and deep aching from his heart. His breathing became choppy, winded by convulses of guilt. Prior to this day, Ralph had always known he was a good person. Now? Well, he’s killed an innocent boy. The only innocent boy. Now, he’s unsure of every aspect of himself. The tears now flow freely down his cheeks in streams, making divots in the sand. Upon noticing this, he tries desperately to smother them by bringing his hands to his face to wipe and wipe and wipe. All that did was leave trails of red, causing Ralph to grieve more intensely.
Jack watched all of Ralph’s frantic movements. He saw Ralph’s progressively intense weeping and his failure to conceal it. He knows he cannot follow suit, for the tears would wash the sins away and a miscreant like Jack doesn’t deserve such comforts. Instead, he chooses to face the chaos stoically. So, he grips tightly onto his spear, despite it driving splinters deeper into his skin, despite it causing his knuckles to turn pale and ghastly. None of his own anguish matters in comparison to the torment experienced by the lifeless Simon. Additionally, he tries desperately to keep his movements minimal out of fear of losing control like he did earlier that night. And when he peers into the ocean, all he can see is the reflection of a boy who fears himself.
But in the ocean is Simon and he has long lost awareness. Ribbons of green and blue sway beneath the surface as they caress his body, sending him away. Little finned creatures mourn by gliding through the waters and surrounding him. And Simon just lays there midst the commotion. His moon-offered halo provides him an evangelical semblance and his lacerated skin dons a salient glow. The sudden call of a cardinal draws the group’s attention to the sky above. In a sickly ironic way, it portrays the image of plain, pure calamity. Gone are the boastful downpours accompanied by thunderclouds. In this moment, the crescent has claimed its reign over the waters, commanding absolute stillness. The constellations flit about and cast a great silvery sheet over the ocean. Simon’s ocean. The waves withdraw once more and carry Simon away on its back, leaving a stream of crimson in his wake. Do not worry for his safety, however. He does not belong among the savages masquerading as boys anyway. Do not fear for his wellbeing, either. For he’ll be singing with the angels soon.