Work Text:
Roger Mattson’s Journal:
Entry 1-
This is not a diary. Only weirdos write those. No, think of this as history. A story of boys who think they’re men. Savage, deranged, and free- that's what adults are.
That's the reason they're in this mess. Kids don't fight in wars, right?
The berries are poisonous, I saw it in a book I read once. Not to mention, anyone who eats them gets sick. If the other boys aren't smart enough to realize that then it's no one's fault but their own. Besides, Simon is the same age as them and didn't eat the berries.
Though, I'm not entirely sure if Simon knows they're poisonous. He seems the type to let others know. It isn't an act, his eyes are kind. A calm lake in the middle of a storm. He must be lucky. Most people are caught in nature's will, not greeted by it.
The other boys are nothing special. Piggy is smart, I suppose. However, brains such as his don't go far when accompanied by naivety. Jack, the wannabe leader is as smart as he is arrogant. And Ralph, too childish for his own good. They are all flawed. Boring in their simplicity.
The others are even worse.
Extras.
There’s little point in paying them any mind.
When I first arrived I thought this was new. Unrestrained desire set onto a forgotten island. Dogs without an owner to tug on their leash. The others don't think that way. Rules have already sunk into them. If they were younger things might be different.
Entry 2-
Simon is a queer kid. That's what makes him interesting.
A little-un who reminds him so much of my younger brother.
The other night I saw Simon in the forest. Sitting there in silence.
Grass tingled in the wind. Swaying below Simon gently. Trees arched over us, blocking me from view. Time watched us with chapped lips. It’s tired eyes knowing the difference between civil and savage.
“It’s nice out here,” Simon said, "isn't it Roger?”
There was something he felt then. Thoughtful as the sky, meaningful as the oceans, and pronounced as ice. I don't understand it now. Message buried under the moment. All I'm left to do is wonder. Spin a story of a creature I never understood.
I peeked my head out.
There’s no point in hiding after you're found.
Attempting to hide the surprise on my face, I stepped forward.
I watched the stars above me. Devouring their light.
“Yeah,” I smiled, “It is.”
Entry 3-
Simon is dead.
His body ravaged by men- not boys.
Who am I now?
I'm not normal like Ralph.
Simon was small, good. Even Jack cared about him. Simon didn't care about meat, or getting rescued. All he wanted was to smile together.
I did it too. Everyone did.
They're pretending it never happened. Simon never existed. Who's Simon? What dance?
The monster is still out there- aren't you scared?
I remember- how can they forget?
The group ignored his cries. Taking turns with their sticks. A crowd of savages blistering the night. Don't they remember his scream? Pain mixed with laughter, lost in the empty jaw of life. Hot water ran down my fingers. Where was the water coming from? I brought them up to my mouth. White blood touches my lips. Metal staining them red. The monster was dead- moon eyes stared at him- we killed Simon the monster. Use what they call him. I’m one of them.
Aren't I?
AREN’T I??!
Chunks of sick bind to my throat. Simon sewing it to my shadow.
A savage finds his lips. Forcing his face into a smile.
He died as a ‘monster,’ lived as a ‘boy.’
What is the point in playing human when the real boy is dead?
Of course I killed him, why let anything pure live?
It was the same then, with my brother- why would it be any different now?
My restraints are gone, maggots crawling out of my throat. Seeping out of every orifice. The maggots never cease, piling on top of my skin like a disease. My arms are covered. Tiny worms nibbling at my skin, patches of flesh ever exposed to gluttony. Blood engulfed by superfluous creatures.
The men never said anything about them.
Never recoil when they brush against me.
Didn't they feel it?
Maggots knocked loose, wiggling over their naked limbs.
Jack has them too, but he doesn't know.
No one knows.
If they saw them, felt the bumps eating at my skin, would they care?
How long until they see them?
How long until they have them too?
Entry 4-
I tossed rocks at Piggy, missing on purpose like Simon would.
Another rock hit the ground. And then another.
“Which is better—to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?”
There is no answer. Whose to say which opinion is correct? I know what’s mine. I don't care if you're struggling with yours. Should I care? Someone with Piggy's opinion would say so.
Water crashed against the rocks below us. The rich smell of salt wafting through the air. I look down, watching as a seagull catches a fish. Teeth pierce the squirming animal. Crimson seeping out of its side. It goes limp seconds before death. Succumbing to nature with its nerve intact.
Piggy followed my gaze, eyes widening at the sight.
I dropped the boulder. Distracted, Piggy stands still.
His face mirrored the fish. Expression tainted by acceptance.
For an instant Jack flickers back to childhood. A boy lost in a game too big for reality. His maggots migrating to my own body. Ralph is the opposite, his young form coerced into becoming a soldier.
Neither scream. The sound is used on their hearts. Keeping the men alive, with a steady hum.
The little-uns are here too. Pale faces concealed by war paint. They stare at the spot Piggy once was. As if expecting him to reappear.
Percival blinked, mumbling something to the other boys. They step back. Scratched faces turned owlish.
I bend down to him, “He went home.”
They nod, going back inside castle rock.
Did I say that?
Me?
No- it didn’t count. The little-uns will forget. Big ones distracted. And I will too, why remember someone else’s words?
What was the point?
Here we are again. Consciousness without meaning.
Jack stared at me. His face twisting into betrayal, and then realization. Ralph runs. Fear holding his legs hostage.
We stalk back inside.
Sam n’ Eric being dragged behind us.
Jack tries to blame him for Ralph. Said something about keeping watch. Then he caught the look on my face. Jack shook his head, simpering off.
Entry 5-
“Ralph needs to disappear," I smiled.
“Hasn’t there been enough death, Roger?”
“Who’s dead?” I lean forward, enjoying the way he squirms. “Simon wasn’t killed, isn’t that right Jack?”
Jack swallowed, “Right.”
“And Piggy, he’s hiding with Ralph?”
“Why-“ Jack chokes on his own lungs, “why wouldn’t he be?”
“Hmmmm, what if I don’t believe you?”
“I-“
“Should I kill you too, Jack?”
“I’ll tell the others about Ralph.”
Jack walked off, his pupils small.
I’ll kill them all.
Laugh at their deaths as the monster I've always been. Kill the boys before they morph into beasts.
I sit here on the floor, writing my last entry.
Jack is eating meat, guilt washed away by kiddish excitement. Sam n’ Eric are jumpy. Twitching whenever Jack addresses them.
Let it be known this is the true me.
A future me is not me at all.
I’m not a boy, nor a man.
I’m a clump of maggots who sings at the sight of blood. Always have been. I won’t lie to myself anymore. It’s pathetic.
Is your face painted too?
To the reader, discard any information you deem important. Read my thoughts, let them twist into your own. Poisoning your civil mind with notions of savagery.
-Monster