Narrative Essay On Lord Of The Flies

Simon snapped shut his locker and slung his gym bag over his shoulder. The walk to the library was short but he wished there was some other place he could go. His shoulder bones ached from swimming practice and the weight of his gym bag made it worse. Why couldn’t he just go home by himself, he thought. Sure, the walk home was long but lying on his own bed was so much better than waiting forever in the library. He walked out of the gym and the afternoon sun’s rays glared painfully bright, blinding him for a second. In the distance, a group of older boys was playing basketball, their voices raised in unison as one player made a quarter throw shot. Simon stopped for a second, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Hey kid, wanna play?” one of them shouted at him.

Simon turned without a word and cringed at the sound of their laughter as he walked away. He had a strong aversion to ball games and wondered why he was so different from

As he rolled his cart away, a book fell out from the pile, tumbling on the hard floor with a loud crash. Simon turned and stood transfixed at the colored images that splashed from the open book. He walked towards it, crouched down and held the book with his two hands. It was big and heavy, heavier than any book he ever held. It had a glossy white cover, the pages thicker than usual, and with more pictures than there were words.

Simon turned the page and a bearded old man with a small, dark mole on his left cheek stared back at him. But it wasn’t the man that held Simon’s attention. It was the picture on the opposite page that held his gaze. The North American P51 Mustang! His grandfather used to tell him stories of his adventure with fighter jets during the war. The P51, he said, was designed as an escort fighter for WWII bombers. It blasted enemy trains and ships in Western Europe and destroyed Axis defenses before they even knew what was