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Ralph’s mind was hazy.
His vision blurred with a concoction of pain and exhaustion, calloused hands shakily tracing his body where it hurt. When he’d raise his hand up to be nearly clearly to see, he’d see a slight layer of red coating his palm.
The red made bile threaten to crawl up the fair boy’s throat. The same shade of red that spilled from the deep gashes on Simon’s back, the same shade of red that spilled from the large crack in Piggy’s head. To just remember those two was torturous.
If only… Ralph repeated in his hazy mind, if only…
A wave of cold abruptly went through him despite the tropical warmth that rested over the island that night. Ralph’s wine-dark eyes fought rest like how the sea fights ships that could have rescued the boys before everything went wrong.
Rest won over, a dream swiping over Ralph’s trouble-ridden mind to have peace for at least a few minutes before he would have to start his escape once more. While Ralph would want to stay up to ensure safety and to look over his injuries, this exhaustion was far too heavy for him to defy.
When Ralph opened his eyes, he was back at Castle Rock where he had sat on a rather suitable rock compared to others. He had fantasized about being clean once more, having the normal items that the boys–littluns and biguns alike–now thought of as luxuries. This fantasy was ignited by the realization of how utterly nasty they were. Ralph’s grey shirt was stiff and reeked like the rest of the boys. He had overlooked the plain of horizon in between the cold blue of the sky and the wine-dark of the sea. The rocks around him were all different shades of grey, the size of those rocks were varying between towering boulders that rested lazily against the cliffside of the higher land, to small pebbles that were perfect to skip against the shore. On the higher land of the small formation was small foliage, most were fruit like papayas, mangoes, even carambola. Though, on the lower land, where the varying rocks stood, were the same foliage, though more scarce than the fertile higher land.
Simon had rested against the same rock Ralph sat on, head leveled with his hip. Though Ralph thought of Simon as batty and odd, he didn’t really mind. Simon was kind-hearted, evident in this past moment Ralph was recalling as Simon peeled open some carambola he had gotten and offered some.
Though, Simon’s appearance was different from the recalling moment. Instead of his stiff white shirt and black chorister shorts, he wore that imperfectly woven robe on his hips, just like boys did back in Ancient Greece. He wore a flower he must’ve plucked from the shore in the early morning in his dark hair. He was dressed the same as he had during the incident. It sent a pang of despair and self-loathing through Ralph.
Simon smiled softly at Ralph, raising his free hand to cup Ralph’s dirt-ridden cheek, “What’s your frown for, Chief?”
Ralph flinched, not expecting Simon to do an action he hadn’t at the recalled scene. Though, he slowly sank into that gentle touch. He couldn’t believe he let this wonderful boy die. Guilt consumed him, hot tears spilling down his cheeks, taking the dirt with it.
Simon placed the carambola down next to him, letting his other hand cup Ralph’s other cheek. He gently wiped those tears away. The gentle touches made larger tears stream down Ralph’s face, his hands reaching up to hold onto both of Simon’s wrists to ground the two together.
Ralph sobbed out, “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I should’ve stopped them, I should’ve noticed it was you and not the beast sooner.”
Simon’s smile softened further, his bright eyes looking at Ralph with adoration and companionship like nothing had happened. He spoke warmly, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Ralph. It was dark, you couldn’t have known.”
While Ralph’s tears subsided just a bit, he still spoke self-loathingly, “I should’ve given up my role as chief. I failed at protecting the group, I am not the leader you thought I was, Simon.”
Simon pulled Ralph in, feeling the hot tears start to spill onto his shoulder, though he did not mind a thing. He spoke quietly, like a whisper in the wind, “You did what you had to in the desperate situations. Not everyone is cut out for leadership.”
Ralph dug his fingers in the tangled curls of Simon’s dark hair. He imagined what they would’ve felt like if they were washed with all the hair oils and scents. Ralph clung tightly to Simon in his dream, ‘fraid as he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to see him again, not knowing if he’ll survive to tell Simon’s tale or to even continue dreaming of him.
A loud chatter echoed in the wind, causing both Simon and Ralph to look around. It sounded the same as the terrifying cackles and chants of the hunters Ralph was being hunted by.
Simon let out a sigh, “Our time is up. They’re nearby. You’ll have to wake up now, Ralph.”
Ralph’s eyes blew wide, not prying off, “I won’t leave you again!”
Simon clenched his hands briefly on Ralph’s cheeks, speaking firmly, “I’ll always be watching you, okay? I’ll never leave you, you’ll never leave me. You have to wake up. When I said you’d be back home, I meant it. Don’t make that prophecy be told untrue.”
With that spoken, Simon dropped a gentle kiss on Ralph’s forehead. It felt like the first droplet of a drizzle touching your palm, but instead of a pricking feeling, it was warmth and savored by the given for as long as he could.
The scene faded along with Simon, leaving Ralph to pry his eyes open to wake. The night was still long-going, but the feeling of resolve was newcoming and welcomed with that same cold gust that went through Ralph despite the tropical warmth.