Lord Of The Flies Dramatic Monologue

He stumbled over a root and the cry that pursued him rose even higher. He saw a shelter burst into flames and the fire flapped at his right shoulder and there was a glitter of water. Then he was down, rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with an arm to ward off, trying to cry for mercy.”

To his left he heard the faint echoes of the tribe’s ululation and wrath filled chants;

“Kill the pig

Cut his throat

Spill his blood”

Closer. The constant scampering of bare feet. Thudding on the sand like a stampede of angry boars. Closer. I need to move, he thought. I need to find cover. Too late. I see them. A blurry figure, with a tail of angry boys. Charging forward with every intention to kill. It is a manic scene, one of hatred and savagery. The glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the knife in Jacks clenched fist kick-starts Ralph’s sprint towards the safety of overgrowth. The pain is almost unbearable, a series of excruciating limbs and searing, stinging wounds. I have to keep running. If they catch me, my head will surely match the same fate as the pig. Swinging lifelessly in circles at the end of a spear.

Suddenly, the silence is all too prominent, fills my head with curiosity and worry. Silently, I crawl towards a gap in the branches, just wide enough to see jack, standing still. I inch forward, just a little bit more to get a full view. I wish I