Oooh look! Another piece of creative writing! This one was, again, school work. This time we had to write about the boy with the mulberry birth mark from Lord of the Flies by William Golding. The boy is mentioned twice, once talking about the beast and then after a huge fire on the island, when his absence is commented on. We are led to assume he died, so we had to essentially write a character death. Yay. I tried to do the story justice... Enjoy!
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Fire. Would fire scare away the beast? Would it be his saviour? He did not think so. The beast was strong and not afraid of anything. Yet he followed the whooping group of boys up the scar anyway, trailing just behind the main pack but in front of the puffing boy with glasses.

As the shattered trees began crawling closer to the scar, his unease grew. Little light speared through the dense jungle either side of him. He paused, peering into the shadows, but he couldn't see what lurked there; the darkness was complete. The beast loved dark places. Like his head at night. With warily light footsteps he continued up the gouged earth, hurrying to catch up to the hooting boys, already racing ahead. Despite it being past midday, the heat still sat heavily on his shoulders. Gleaming sweat created a shimmering film over his mulberry birthmark as he pumped his little legs, but his diminutive size hampered his effort to join the pack. He stopped when he could no longer feel his legs, breaths coming in heaving pants. Ahead, the seething mass of boys became little more than dark shadows dancing on the mountain. Exhausted and hungry, he bowed to the might of the mountain and set about satisfying his roaring stomach.

Venturing timidly into the forest, he searched for food, his hunger outweighing his fear of the unknown. Just as the scar was beginning to be concealed by the dense mass of trees, he chanced upon an orchard, an island of dappled light amongst the solid presence of the true jungle. On tiptoe, his outstretched hands could just about reach the heavy, golden fruit. He set to work, plucking them from quivering branches and cramming them into his waiting mouth. When he had stripped the thin tree of its yield, he proceeded further into the orchard of plum-like jewels.

Some handfuls of fruit later, with a pleasantly full stomach, he reached a sticky palm for the final fruit that would complete his meal. A crackling of twigs interrupted him. He was in half a mind to turn, but the fruit was being irritatingly elusive, just dancing teasingly out of range.  Another kid had likely joined him in the orchard. He thought nothing much of it until the sickly sweet odour of burning fruit wafted into his nostrils. An ancient, instinctual dread settled over him as he turned to see a lick of flame dance around the fruit tree furthest from him. He froze. Then, with a crack, the tree exploded into a phoenix of fire and wood splinters, wingtips slashing against the other trees in the orchard. Within in seconds, his entire vision was terribly alive with writhing flames. He turned and fled.

The beast! The beast was chasing him, huge paws of flame cracking the ground, a thunderous roar rumbling from its blazing maw. Blind terror seized him with its unclenching fist. He ran, feet winged with terror. He ran like he never had before, trunks flashing past in a blurring shadow. Then he tripped. Orange and dark blended in a sickening whirl. The ground was unyielding as the death which awaited him when his palms collided. He rolled furiously until his back met a trunk of iron, head following his bruised spine as it thwacked into the tree, hard enough for streaks of white to vein his vision. With dazed vision he saw a wall of scarlet rise before him,  the burning eyes of his nightmares boring into him. A whimper escaped him, along with a desperate plea for mercy. Yet he felt naught but a bright licking of pain as the rearing wave of fire shook its crimson mane and surged downwards upon his battered body.