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It was a warm night out on the island, it had rained the day before so the bathing pool was full. On the beach, before the sun had fully risen was a figure. Rodger sat on the sand just out of reach of the lapping waves.
He sighed as he watched the sunset, the dark haired boy was exhausted from him and the 'hunters' attempts of killing a pig. Day after day Jack would lead them through the brush on a pig path, but day after day they would come back empty handed.
Rodger was tired of it.
But the choir had finally managed to catch something, and the boys were dancing the fire while the pig cooked over by the huts. He had been sitting on the beach for hours at this point, and he was quite tired, but refused to sleep. Rodger didn't feel safe on this island.
The only thing he felt was annoyance at the littleuns and revulsion towards Piggy.
He stood, his hands in the pockets of his torn trousers. The dark haired boy walked along the beach, and eventually zoned out.
When he came back to his senses he was on the complete opposite side of the island, there was a flash of surprise and maybe panic when he realized just how far from the rest of the group he was.
Rodger decided that the fastest way to get back was to cut past the mountain and through the forest, but it was still dark, and who knows, maybe there was a beast.
He shook of his worry though.
It's just a made up story from the littleuns
He thought to himself before entering the thick brush filled with creepers.
He closed his eyes and held onto his cap while he forced himself through the worst parts of the thorns. Finally, Rodger made it to a small clearing covered in tall weeds; his breathing was ragged and small fresh cuts pulsed on his exposed skin.
He leaned against a tree, catching his breath.
He slid down the trunk, resting in the shadows of the branches. As his breath slowed he finally noticed it, another set of breaths coming from the tallest weeds across the clearing. His heart jumped; Is it the beast? Is it some new monster? Is it a pig?
Rodgers mind raced with all the possibilities.
He crept forward through the grasses towards the sound, when he parted the last bit of grasses he held his breath, his heart hammering; but when his eyes landed on the figure on the grass he say someone he didn't expect to be there: Simon. The boy was laying there, peacefully asleep in the brush, Rodger finally let out the breath he'd been holding in; which made Simon stir.
"Hmm?"
Simon grumbled, sitting up, rubbing his green eyes.
Rodger sighed, he had known Simon for years, they had been in the same choir of boys since they were eight.
"Sorry"
Rodger muttered, looking away.
"It's fine"
Simon yawned, stretching a bit.
Rodgers past adrenaline subsided and was replaced with curiosity.
"What are you doing out here? The rest of the group is at the fire with meat"
He asked the boy covered in mud
"And you should probably wash up, or that dirt'll never come off"
Rodger muttered the last bit, embarrassed.