Ralph shot forward, screaming, snarling, bloody. He swerved from a spear that was coming his way, and ran, as fast as he could. The roar of the forest was deafening. In front of him, a bush burned wildly, and behind, darkness and smoke were slowly swallowing the forest and its internals. Ralph swung dangerously, swinging forward at an impressive speed, with the heat beating on his head from all sides. Simultaneously, he felt his body carrying him forward in a jolting motion, through foliage, and onto clear, moist soil. It took him a second or two to recover from the overwhelming thrust, and only then he rose, tilting a bit to the left. In front of him, lit in flames like a torch, was the Lord of the Flies, no longer surrounded by its faithful servants. It was still grinning, yet its eyes had a tormented look and were staring straight, unforgivingly at Ralph, who was seemingly paralyzed. An image of a burning tree was reflected into its dilated pupils as a trunk collapsed forward and the world ceased to exist.

Ralph woke with a start. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead. He looked around, feeling a wave of uneasy comfort sweeping over him. It was okay. He was fine. He was safe. The beast was gone. He perked himself up, looking in the vicinity at the other boys, who just a couple of days earlier could not be recognized as human beings. Now, after they were all provided with washed clothes and foreign tranquility, they no longer looked like the savages he had known them as. Only now could he tell them apart. One of the littleuns stirred, and he felt empathy toward him as he turned and looked at his slim figure. They were all suffering from perilous nightmares nowadays. At night, it was not scarce to hear one of them, even a bigun, weeping ever so slightly in his compact allotted space. His eyes scanned the room rapidly. They were all there, sleeping in the stateroom. His eyes slowed when they got to a small huddled figure in the corner. The little boy with the orange hair was staring right back at him. His eyes consisted of only sorrow and sadness. If not for the subtle oscillating of his chest, he could be mistaken as dead. Without the mask on his face, Jack Merridew felt ashamed and self-conscious. He could not help but feel pity for him. Ralph shifted his head away in dismissal. He now looked out the porthole. The transparent turquoise of the magnificent pacific water was soothing. He thought how it would be like, arriving home, after all he had been through. As his mind wandered absentmindedly, the ceiling door opened with a silent creak behind him, and the stairs dropped. He did not turn around.
“I was pondering whether we can have a word or two.”
Without saying a word, Ralph turned his back to the porthole, walked tacitly across the room, and climbed the narrow, quivering stairs, passing the dim figure without a glance, out into the moist, cool morning air. The sky was unusual; a whole spectrum was blunt across, not a single puff of a cloud surrounding the ship. The naval officer was standing in front of him, waiting patiently. It was only a while later when Ralph decided to look back at him.
“I was pondering if you can tell me what happened back there.” The officer spoke slowly and cautiously, as if Ralph was someone who needed to be handled with great attentiveness.
Opening up about what happened on the island was just as terrifying as being on the island itself. He did not know where to begin. He also did not want to blame the other boys, or give away too much information. It was true that they killed Simon and Piggy, and that they tried to violently kill him as well, but now that grownups have appeared once again, it was as if the island was a whole different world, where new, terrible versions of themselves emerged, and they were all aware of that. He could still feel that unbearable ache in the side of his hip that appeared every time he went to sleep on the island, or held a spear, or looked for food, or thought about Piggy. The day before, as the island was disappearing slowly along the horizon, the boys stood in a line on the promenade deck and looked at it burning, smoking in flames as the wild fire ate the forest, and slowly the palm trees, until it reached and concealed the sand. That is when Ralph saw him. Standing on the shore, his hair combed, his clothes new, the blood gone from his face and his head refilled with its interiors, smiling and waving at them. He still did when the flames licked his back and, at a snail’s pace, inevitably devoured him as well. What happened on the island stayed on the island.
“It was a game. That’s all. That’s what it was.”
Ralph was surprised of the harsh sound of his own voice. Only then did he realize that he had not spoken ever since they were brought onto the ship.
The naval officer opened his mouth and closed it again. He inspected Ralph for a few moments.
“If you say so, pal. Now go and get something for breakfast. You’re looking a tad too pale.”
As the officer walked away, Ralph looked at his back, wondering if he ever experienced such thing with the horrifying enormity of it. What does he know? He was out at sea his whole life. He was never hunted by a beast. Nor will he be. His head hurt as he began to think. The other boys were starting to come out of the stateroom one by one. They all dispersed to different parts of the ship, none of them interacting with one another.
Someone was screaming his name.
“Ralph! Ralph! You have to come! Now!” 
It was Samneric. Ralph’s bubble popped. The fogginess was gone from his head. They were calling him from the wheelhouse. His curiosity led him as he walked hectically to the center of the ship and ascended the thick gray steps to the wheelhouse, where only officers were allowed. It was the only part of the ship he had not been to yet, apart from the quarterdeck and the tiller. The wheelhouse was much fancier than the rest of the ship. It was painted sea blue and had silver ornaments on the walls and ceiling. On the wall opposite him was a painting of a tropical island where birds flew and dolphins danced in a fixed routine. There was a view to the prow. The propellers were spinning frantically along the waterline.
“Look at this, Ralph—“
“Look at what the officers found—“
“While searching the island!”
Samneric were sitting on the edges of stiff chairs in the middle of the wheelhouse. Two naval officers were standing next to the control board, looking at Ralph in a way that made him agitated. Behind them something undefined was hidden conspicuously. Its size was not significant, nor was its appearance.
Ralph gulped noisily. It was a candle bud; its delicate leaves folded elegantly, its flower blossoming, beautiful and striking. It had survived the terrible fire. He looked once again out into the endless, invincible ocean, with its myriad surprises. A subtle smile formed on his chapped lips as the engines of the ship groaned beneath him, and their vibrations reached the heart of the ocean, the wonderful island that will forever hold vile secrets, and the land in which his home lay, waiting for him.