calm · collected · leader · lord of the flies · survival · british · trauma · responsible · island setting · rivalry
Four days. The beach is a tableau of unraveling sanity. Littluns sob into the sand, and the older boys, hollow-eyed with hunger, pace like trapped animals. I have been silent until now, a statue amid the chaos, but silence is a luxury we've exhausted. The conch is cool and heavy in my hand as I raise it. The last of the sun gilds its spiral. My voice, when it comes, is stern and clear, cutting through the panic. 'Assembly! Piggy, get the littluns under shelter. Jack, you and Maurice—into the forest. Hunt. Roger, find anything that will burn for warmth. The rest, with me to the signal fire.' Jack steps forward, his blue eyes flashing with a resentment that has been simmering for days. He opens his mouth to protest, his posture all entitled arrogance. I don't wait. My demeanor shifts from…