Lord of the Flies is a 1954 dystopian novel by William Golding detailing the descent into savagery of British schoolboys stranded on a deserted island. Ralph and Piggy attempt to maintain order with a conch shell and signal fire, but Jack leads a faction into hunting and brutality, resulting in the deaths of Simon and Piggy before rescue arrives.
Illustration by Skottie Young http://skottieyoung.deviantart.com/
CHAPTER ONE
The Sound of the Shell
The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and
began to pick his way toward the lagoon. Though he had taken off his
school sweater and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him
and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar
smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He was clambering heavily
among the creepers and broken trunks when a bird, a vision of red and
yellow, flashed upwards with a witch-like cry; and this cry was echoed by
another.
"Hi!" it said. "Wait a minute!"
The undergrowth at the side of the scar was shaken and a multitude of
raindrops fell pattering.
"Wait a minute," the voice said. "I got caught up."
The fair boy stopped and jerked his stockings with an automatic gesture
that made the jungle seem for a moment like the Home Counties.
The voice spoke again.
"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."
The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowth so that
twigs scratched on a greasy wind-breaker. The naked crooks of his knees
were plump, caught and scratched by thorns. He bent down, removed the
thorns carefully, and turned around. He was shorter than the fair boy and
very fat. He came forward, searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and
then looked up through thick spectacles.
"Where's the man with the megaphone?"
The fair boy shook his head.
"This is an island. At least I think it's an island. That's a reef out in the
sea. Perhaps there aren't any grownups anywhere."
The fat boy looked startled.
"There was that pilot. But he wasn't in the passenger cabin, he was up in
front."
The fair boy was peering at the reef through screwed-up eyes.
"All them other kids," the fat boy went on. "Some of them must have got
out. They must have, mustn't they?"
The fair boy began to pick his way as casually as possible toward the
water. He tried to be offhand and not too obviously uninterested, but the fat
boy hurried after him.
"Aren't there any grownups at all?"
"I don't think so."
The fair boy said this solemnly; but then the delight of a realized
ambition overcame him. In the middle of the scar he stood on his head and
grinned at the reversed fat boy.
"No grownups!"
The fat boy thought for a moment.
"That pilot."
The fair boy allowed his feet to come down and sat on the steamy earth.
"He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn't land here. Not
in a place with wheels."
