Epilogue To Lord of the Flies

♦ Millie Berbeco ♦

As the boys continued sobbing, they drew gasping, quaking breaths. The black sky enclosing the island made it look like the sun, burning from the fire the boys had set. The smell coming from the fire was intense but also reminiscent of barbeque. Perhaps there were pigs on the island. The naval officer turned around to inquire if they were finished because it had been some time since the wailing had begun. They must be done now. Nothing that bad has happened. As he began to speak, he heard a name being muttered throughout the group, 

“Simon!”

“Where is Simon???”

“Is Simon dead?”

Who is this Simon? Did he die on this island? I sure hope not—that means paperwork. The naval officer whistled to get the boys' attention.

“All right, we need to get off this island. I have a dinghy but it will only fit a few at a time. Who would like to go first?” The naval officer gestured in the direction from which he had come. It appeared as if he were pointing at a little paper boat in the distance. This was the dinghy, made up of wood and rust. Nobody volunteered. Does everything have to be difficult? I thought these boys were British.

“You there!!” he pointed at one of the older boys with matted, long brown hair. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Ralph, sir. I’m the chief, remember?” the boy replied tartly.

“Sure, chief. Why don’t you get on the first ship?” If he’s chief, the others are sure to follow. 

“I ought to go last since I’m chief. Jack ought to go first,” Ralph replied, making a face like he smelled something sour. 

A tall, red-haired boy pushed his way to the front, his face still dirty and streaked with tears.

“Jack, please choose others to join you on the boat. I will take you to the ship and return for the rest.” I guess he isn't the chief. 

“I ought to take the littluns and the rest can go with Ralph,” was Jack’s quick response.

Jack walked as though he was heading off of a plank into churning waters full of sharks. 

The littluns trailed after with excited whispers. The officer followed, giving the remaining boys a stern look as if to tell them not to move.

The officer got into the little, rickety, wooden boat first and helped the boys on board, one-by-one. They rode the ocean, bobbing up and down over the waves, the ocean so salty the boys could taste it in the air. As they reached the looming ship, the silence was broken only when the officer told them how to get on the large cruiser.

“You must climb this ladder to reach the top of the ship. Once there, my mate will help you get settled. I’ll be there soon,” instructed the naval officer, turning the boat around and driving off to the yellow, orange, burning island. As he returned to the deserted, lonely-looking island, he gestured for the older boys to join him on the dinghy.

“What happened on the island?” the officer asked, as he maneuvered the dinghy towards the cruiser. “What caused Simon’s death?”

“How d— He just died,” was Roger’s guilty-sounding response, “We don’t know what happened. The body was taken out to sea and we don’t know how he died.”

The other boys stared at Roger, as though in shock. The naval officer was also staring at them, horror in his eyes.

“Who are you? Ne– Nevermind,” the naval officer stammered. “I’m sorry this happened. Do you know what day you left?”

“We ought to remember, but it's been a long while,” Ralph responded. “Do you mean to tell me you weren’t searching for us?”

“Sorry, but we just saw the smoke. We didn’t know you were out here.”

“My father is a commander in the Navy. Was he looking for us?”

“Who’s your father, boy?”

“Commander Williams, sir.” Ralph inquired. “Do you know of him?”

The naval officer responded with, “Know of him? Know o— Of course, I know of him. He is only the most renowned Navy Commander in the world!”

The dinghy knocked against the cruiser creating a constant thudding noise that sounded faintly like a hammer and nail but also of a book hitting the ground.

“Is this boat going to break?” one of the boys asked. The naval officer thought he was the one named Maurice.

“Of course, it’s not going to break. This is the most finely made dinghy in all of America,” the naval officer explained, stroking the damp boat's old, somewhat hairy side. “Up to the top with you, boy.”

Once all the boys made their way up the ladder, the boat started to move away from the island. The slow rocking and loud breeze scared the boys, who started to shiver uncontrollably. Despite being cold, the boys all lined up at the stern of the ship, staring at the burning island and the thunderclouds surrounding it with faces that looked blank at first glance. 

When the naval officer looked closer, he saw small signs of guilt and sadness and devastation on their faces. Some eyes held tears. Some bottom lips began to tremble. The boys continued to stare into the distance long after the island vanished, salty droplets streaking down their faces.