Blog 11-Island of the Boys-Naval Officer's Journal

A plume of smoke rises from a distant speck. Checking the charts we realize that there is an island there.
"Head for the smoke!" The captain commands. "Full speed ahead!" The ship sails through the waters. Briskly heading for the island. The ship draws near a small lagoon. The captain pulls me aside.
"Officer, you take three others and go in the little boat. We'll wait here. Alright?"
"Yes sir." I respond. I snap my fingers and three of the sailors snap to attention and follow me. We get in the little boat that is lowered down into the water. The crew rows toward the lagoon. From all over the island smoke rises and smothers. There is a small faint ululation coming from the island. It ends in a scream that chokes and gurgles. We pull into the lagoon and I hop out onto the beach. There are signs of some sort of society. There are some huts and a meeting ground but there is no one in sight but a few little boys. Suddenly a single boy staggers out onto the beach. He has a gash on his stomach and is holding a spear. His eyes look hunted. Moments later about 10 other boys rush from the wood. When they see the other boy they react toward him. Then they see that I am here and stand still in what appears to be respectful awe. They have wide and disbelieving eyes.
"What happened here?" I address the whole assembly. The newer group are adorned with paint and next to naked. The boys look uncertain. "Are you English boys?" The one who came first nods. "Who was in charge here?" A little boy of about 12 carrying a broken pair of specs with red hair and the remains of a choirboy's cap steps forward then glances around and steps back. The blonde boy steps forward. I eye him thoughtfully. There must have been a fight for leadership that ended so badly. This boy must have fought the savagery around him. His injuries and the fact that he is not painted mean that he is not one of the group. He must have become a renegade.
"I was. This is my fault." He is a brave boy. He seems to absorb the disaster around him and visualize what has transpired here.
"What are your names?" I ask. I turn rapidly to a little one near me. He cowers. I am confused by his timidity.
"My name is. My name is..." He trails off. I urge him to elaborate. He can't seem to even remember his name.
"I thought that English boys should have done better." I say. The blonde leader looks sad. He gazes around him.
"We didn't first, then," He too trails off.
"Are there any bodies?" I inquire.
"Only two, and those were swept out to sea." I shudder. I lead the boys to the boat where my men are looking curiously at the scorched, naked savages that once were demure schoolboys. Suddenly the blond boy looks back at the island. I hear him murmur the word Piggy. He is sobbing as I lead him gently into the boat. Great heaving sobs. When we have gotten them comfortable then I will ask him what happened. Find out the true story of the Island of the Boys.