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Cowardice	By : saucyminion Category: G through L > Lord of the Flies Views: 17461 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Part Five—Words On Paper

Dear Ralph,

I hope that you have not torn up this letter by now, but if you have, I understand. If not, do not burden yourself with a reply, for I have neither need nor desire of it. There are some things that I must say to you.
That day on the ship when we were children and we broke bread: that was something that I took to be very sincere. Do you remember that day? I know that you probably just had the little ones in mind when that harmony took place, but I did, and do, very much want peace. I cannot have you as an enemy, and I do not wish you to see me as yours. I don’t want this to go on forever; it shouldn’t have to.
I am so sorry, Ralph. I am sorry for all the pains and wounds I have caused you, and I say this from the bottom of my heart. I know that these just look like words on paper, but if I could write what it feels like have this much shame and regret in my soul, I would write that.
It has been nearly seven years. I do not know what kind of man you are now, but I am certain you are a strong leader in whatever you do as I remember you.
I will end this now because, despite all the rest that burns to be said, I know that you do not wish to look at this letter for very much longer. There is so much that I want to say to you that I do not quite know how to put. I am sorry for scratching at old wounds with this letter, and I am sorry for my intrusion on your life.
Do not respond.

                        Sincerely,
                                    Jack Merridew

    There were so many questions that Ralph had the instant he finished reading the letter, and before thinking on them too long or forgetting them all together, he flipped the paper over to the blank side and wrote.

Dear Jack,

Why do you call me “Dear” and why do I do the same? I am not dear to you or you to me. I have little to say to you, and it has nothing to do with forgiving or shaming. Why do you tell me not to respond when you write you return address? Either you think that I am daft enough to assume that you really do not expect me to reply, or you were really so thoughtless as to draw your return address out of habit. I think it is the first. I think you do want me to reply because you seem like the type who would need closure—need to know how I really feel about you after all the years past. Of course, there is nothing for me to say in regards to my feelings towards you that I have not already expressed, but I will tell you that what I feel towards you cannot even be measured. There are no words. What is certain, though, you do not frighten me any more. Do I frighten you?

    Ralph paused for a moment. What was he saying, talking about fear like that? He was writing with anger. Why was he corresponding so harshly when Jack had sent him a perfectly composed letter? At the same time, he was overwhelmed and wasn’t sure how to react to such an intrusion.
    Hearing himself even say that name in his head made him shudder. Whenever he’d thought back to the days on the island, he’d tried so hard not to put names to the faces. It was far less painful that way.
  “Jack,” he whispered, testing himself, not having heard himself speak that name in some time. The name felt good on his tongue but it sent eerie sensations crawling under his skin. He didn’t like it, but he was becoming curious. What would he see in his head if he were to put that name to the redhead’s face today? Would he appear differently? Hold his self differently? Surely his voice had changed. There might not be much of the Jack he once knew present in the Jack that existed today, but he honestly could not picture him much differently from the vivid image he held in his mind.
    Ralph looked at the envelope and scanned the return address. London. Jack was living in London, and the address was actually quite near his. A far wealthier district though. Was he living a life of luxury in a big house with a prize wife-to-be? He almost wanted to believe that. Still, he wasn’t certain if he was intrigued or nervous of the idea that Jack had been so close, and not knowing for how long. More than anything he felt angry.
    Once again, he put pen to paper.
I would very much like to see if you are still the coward you once were, and perhaps where I stand in my own bravery. I will be at the Honeybee Teashop (a couple of blocks down from your return address) a week from today at 5:00 pm. I am
    Ralph wondered to himself for a moment…
                interested in meeting with you.

                        -Ralph

    Ralph looked at the note on the table, completely dissatisfied with it. He was certain he didn’t always write such unbecoming letters to people, but he was boiling with emotions that were guiding his pen poorly. Without putting too much thought into the paper holding both notes, he stuffed it back into the envelope it had come in. He found a stamp in one of the “kitchen” drawers eventually, which he stuck on top of the old one that had come with the envelope. Ralph scratched out his address on the envelope, leaving only the return address. Surely it would go back to the sender that way. The truth was that Ralph didn’t have an envelope or anything of the sort. He’d become quite used to recycling whatever he could. And though the trip was short he was too uneasy to deliver the letter himself.
    He was at the door with the abused-looking envelope when he suddenly felt quite faint. He swallowed hard but his throat was sore and his mouth dry. He realized how critically dehydrated he was, and glass or not, he needed water.
    His head in the sink moments later, Ralph breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cool water trickling down the back of his neck and head and face. He closed his eyes and licked up the moist droplets from his lips. At first he enjoyed the barbarity of it before realizing that there was none.
    All at once his head began to clear. In that moment of clarity, a memory, so vivid he could almost feel the wet sand squishing beneath his toes, came back to him behind his shut lids. He and Jack were splashing in the water together as children without a care in the world. It was one of their first days together on the island. He remembered being happy. He was happy with Jack who was an admirable child equal to him. When a run of cool water—fresh, not salty—rushed into his mouth he caught himself grinning and remembered that he was in his flat. Of course he stopped grinning instantly, but he had an unusual feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t know the name for. It was not uncommon for him to get lost in the past now and then, but that was the only fond thought he’d had of Jack in seven years. It didn’t bother or confuse him—simply refreshed him like the water had.
    Wiping the wet strands of hair out of his eyes and feeling suddenly very focused, Ralph leaned against the counter and peered down at the letter. He wondered what on earth he was thinking to have written a response when the sender had clearly specified that a response was not necessary. He was clearly out of his mind to have, in addition, arranged to meet with the one person who had been responsible for destroying his childhood and sending him into a dizzying spiral of therapists and medication. And, insane or not, because of all of this Ralph felt alive—really alive, and relieved to be so, which he had not felt in nearly seven years.
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Cowardice