"Say something I'm giving up on you."

..

Roger parted the leaves, and pinched off a dark pink-colored flower, purposely leaving the long sprig. He added it to his handful of flowers as he walked. He had been collecting flowers for God-knows how long. Beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead and the crook of his neck. He wiped them off, then proceeded to make his way through the forest. He had his eyes on every flowers on the way, and took the most beautiful ones. His lips slightly curved up at the realization that people only destroy the most beautiful beings. He chuckled to himself in sarcasm, then felt his cheeks getting hot again, only this time he knew the reason why.

He pressed his palm against his forehead to feel it. It was not as hot as a while ago, probably because of all the sweating. Roger put the flowers he collected in a dry and empty coconut shell, and held it carefully to his chest. He stepped into the soft soil, and pinched off another flower below his feet before finally meeting the former chief's eyes.

They were quite beautiful, if only time did not cause the color of the sky at midnight to fade. The eyelids were cut off since the current chief had always wanted to stare at those eyes that would permanently express fear, and take pride in what he did. The golden locks of hair were slightly flying and falling to the ground beneath in the small wind that blew through the forest, giving Roger chills running down his spine like electricity. The old chief's skin was pale, without any hints of blood, and rotting. Flies were buzzing around him, and a white worm-like creature, only shorter, was crawling out from his mouth and the holes they dug on his skin. A stick was jammed down deep in the earth with its one sharpened end, and impaled into the disintegrating flesh with the other sharpened end. The head slightly wobbled in the wind. Roger sat down, eyes locking into the head.

He heard a voice. Deep, cracking, defeated, ragged, yet some of the power in it still remained like when its owner was holding a big, cream-colored shell. He stared at the sacrifice for the beast, eyes unblinking.

Why didn't you save him? The voice accused, rebuking him.

Why didn't you? You were chief. Roger mentally replied, and just kept staring at the discolored eyes.

I no longer had authority. I didn't have the power. You were different. They feared you, after that beast, and swine, and thief. You could've stopped them. You knew it was him, but you didn't stop them. The voice kept getting more and more intense, stressing every word it spoke.

Roger bowed his head down, this time keeping his eyes on the ground. He buried his face within his knees, his arms wrapping around his legs. His cheeks and eyes were hot again, and his forehead was on fire. He let out a small sigh. I couldn't, my body wouldn't move. I tried, but even my throat refused to let out a sound to warn them. I was scared. I shouldn't have given up. I could've saved him, but I was too scared.

The voice was silent. The head stopped wobbling, and the eyes stopped right at him. It glared down at him.

Well, it's too late now, isn't it? The voice sounded defeated. It chuckled bitterly.

Isn't it?

What were you so afraid of that stopped you from saving him?

Jack?

The beast?

Or yourself getting caught in the fun of killing the beast?

Roger laced his fingers together. He lifted his head up. His eyes were, again, focused on the old chief's. He looked down to his coconut shell filled with wild flowers, and stood up. He turned his back, and kept walking. The jungle closed in on him, and the cicadas started crying. The sound of the waves still echoed in his ears as he walked under the shades of the tall trees, trying to avoid the creepers hanging without an order. The sun still shone its light on his bare back even though it was blocked by the trees behind him. Roger huddled into the space hidden within the hanging creepers, and found himself at the perfect spot to watch the sunset, but he was not there to do that. He sat down on a rock, putting the coconut shell of flowers down next to his feet, picked up two flowers and started knotting them together. He tried to remember how he did it the last time, being taught by another boy. He felt the other's hand gently holding his, instructing him on how not to destroy anything. No, not like that, the person would say, smiling at him in frustration. Their cheeks would brush into each other, and they would turn red like two ripe tomatoes. Roger unconsciously smiled at the thought, though at that moment, he did not feel any small, tanned hands touching his, or a bare chest against his back.

The amount flowers in the coconut shell decreased as the string of flowers in his hands got longer. Roger finished his flower crown, rough and not at all that beautiful, when the moon appeared in front of his eyes. That white and cold light covered his pale skin, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes were. He wiped away the sweat on his forehead, feeling that it had cooled down a bit again, and began moving towards the figure lying limply at the corner of the secret place. His black eyes were watery, and he stared at the seemingly sleeping face.

Peaceful. He thought, and placed the flower crown on top of the person's head. Roger kneeled down, his gaze was still towards the tanned boy.

"Simon, say something," he whispered. His voice cracked, unwilling to take silence as an answer from the person in front of him. He felt the unfamiliar wave of heat rushing to his cheeks, and the water kept filling his eyes.

The cicadas cried.

"Please, anything." The wind blew through the tall trees, making a whistling sound. Roger looked at the other one, black eyes begging for a sound other than the silence in his ears.

The sea cried.

"Just say something," Roger's lips shivered. His upper teeth bit his lower lips until they bleed, but they would not stop shaking.

The wind cried.

"Anything," he broke down, his face was to the ground, an earthy scent was in his nose.

And he cried.