In which Ralph ran up the mountain instead of to the beach. Jalph will be shipped.

..

Ralph blasted out of the burning jungle just before the fire roasted his legs. He breathed out hastily while climbing up the mountain. He knew he should have ran to the beach. There, he could at least swim out. He gulped in the air as he reached the top and, as a routine, flicked the fair hair out of his face. Ralph bent down and let his heart calm itself while trying to ignore the sharp pain from the wound on his chest. He glanced upward, and his heart sped up again. He walked towards the figure, his eyes carefully took in every detail, trying to make out what the tangled mess was. Then, it hit him. He saw the face of a man, gray and decaying. He saw a giant piece of nylon fluttering in the wind, resembling a parachute, and strings. Ralph ran a hand through his fair hair again.

All this time, they were scared of a dead man.

His mind was flooded with the image of a thin, frail boy, stuck in the middle of chanting naked savages. He remembered how he only stood there and watched instead of trying to save the boy.

He remembered how, in the end, he had joined that circle of savages.

Ralph jumped at the rustling sound of the leaves behind him. He turned around, only to see a jungle in flame and a tall, thin boy with red hair that bore so much resemblance to the fire burning down the trees. He subconsciously took a step back. His bare heel touched the limp hand of the dead body and his hand gripped tight to the stick.

"Thought you could run, didn't you Ralph?" Jack Merridew hissed, then chuckled. He had had his prey cornered, there was no way to run, no where to hide. He had victory in his hands. Jack closed in, carefully eyeing the long wound that he himself had created on Ralph's chest and felt proud. "You can't run anymore, pretty boy."

"Bloody savage," Ralph muttered under his breath, glancing at Jack cautiously. His breath was heavy, both from the pain and his lack of energy. His brows furrowed. "Do you really think you can take me down that easy?" His grip on the stick was tighter, the rough wood dug into his skin.

"Yes, indeed." Jack smirked. His icy blue eyes were prominent in all that red, white and black face paint. His steps were slow and steady. He was still cornering his prey. "Or, better, a nice fight to the death."

Ralph shrugged at how Jack could say the word so easily.

"The winner gets a price, of course."

"You say it as if it's a game," Ralph took another small step back.

"Isn't it, Ralph?" The savage chief was still slowly walking over, his intense gaze was fixated on the blond boy and his wounded chest. "And if you did bring me down, the others are going to fight you. They do what I want. Not you." That was when Ralph thought he saw a shadow lurking behind the trees.

They were only four steps apart now, and Ralph could not back down anymore. Behind him was the corpse and the cliff.

"You won't even dare to kill."

Ralph swallowed, then was silent. Despite all his bitter words, Jack was right. Even if he did win, even if he did –Ralph choked at the word, he could not even think of it– take Jack down, he would not have the guts to end his life. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, making him breath even faster. His eyes caught the glimpse of a shiny object in Jack's belt.

Suddenly, Jack ran to him, the sharp end of his spear was toward his face. As a reflex, Ralph held up his arms, dropped his stick, and managed to keep the spear from impaling him and Jack a few inches away from his face. Both his hands held each of Jack's bony but strong arms, shakily trying to delay his motion. Jack casted a shadow over him. His face paint and aggressive look were one step away from freaking Ralph out. They stood in the position for a few seconds, then Ralph took the opportunity to kick Jack in the leg, sending the redhead down, but he pulled Ralph down with him in the process. They stumbled on each other, and Jack somehow managed to be on top of Ralph. His bony hands held the blonde's arms down. Their sticks had both fallen to the ground, but Jack's was just right next to their legs. Jack transferred Ralph's left arm up so that he could hold both of his arms down. He grabbed the stick next to his leg with his right hand, and pressed the pointy end against Ralph's left chest, pushing down slightly.

Ralph's heartbeat was so loud and fast Jack could feel it on his stick. He looked at the redhead with resentful eyes, then, again, glimpsed the shiny blade from the corner of his eyes. Jack put more pressure on the stick, making the blond boy gasp out in pain. Ralph took the chance and kicked him in the crotch with his knee. The redhead fell over, releasing his hold of Ralph's arms. Ralph snatched the knife from Jack's belt and rolled on top of him, the sharp end was slightly pushed against of the redhead's chest, close to where his heart was. Ralph's hands started shaking as he tried commanding himself to do it, but he could not.

He never could.

"What's wrong, chief," Jack whispered in a mocking tone, "can't do it? That's what I thought." A grin found its way to his lips.

"I am." Ralph's cheeks went red in embarrassment. His hands still shook violently.

"Then do it. And then you'll get your prize."

"What prize?" Ralph was confused. Jack did not seem to fight back anymore.

"Do it, shove the knife in my bloody chest and I'll show you!"

"I am!"

"Then do it!"

"I am!"

"Then DO IT!"

Something pushed Ralph's hands hard, and the knife went all the way into Jack's chest, making a warm, red liquid spurt out everywhere. Blood seeped into the ground. Jack gasped out, not expecting Ralph to do it for real. He gulped in some air.

"It wasn't me." Ralph muttered, his big ocean blue eyes were watery.

"No worries. That was–" Jack searched his mind for the word that was his verdict for Ralph's action, "–strong."

"But I didn't–" The blond boy choked on his own words. His cheeks were red again, but not out of embarrassment. He faced the redhead.

"Ready for your prize?" Jack chuckled as he saw the watery big blue eyes, then immediately coughed out. The excruciating pain had been transferred to all the nerves in his body. He knew what was going to happen, but he had one last thing to do.

Slowly, Jack's bony hand grasped on the smooth blond hair. He pushed Ralph's face closer and closer to his, feeling the hot skin against his that was about to turn cold. Their lips brushed into each other, then connected. Ralph's eyes were opening wide with shock, and Jack's were closed. Again, Ralph could feel his heart beat faster and faster. He had seen people doing this in the movies that his mother always watched, but it was only between a man and a woman, never a man and a man. Jack's tongue slid into his mouth, but he bit it. It retrieved, brushing against his teeth a little in the process.

Their lips parted. Jack opened his eyes, but they were hazy. Another grin spread across his face.

"Been waiting all my life to do it."

With that, his eyes shut, his heart stopped beating, and Ralph could feel his stopping along with it.

Then, he felt himself being impaled with a sharpened wooden stick. Someone grabbed his arm and separated him from Jack, throwing him a feet away from the body. Pain travelled along his body, immobilizing him. He glanced up as the figure stopped next to Jack's body. It was a boy with long black hair and slightly sunburnt, yet still pale skin. He kneeled down and pulled the knife out of Jack's chest, then turned and walked to Ralph. The blonde stared as Roger loomed over him, a vicious, twisted grin appeared on his lips.

"You pushed my hands." Ralph, again, muttered under his breath. He looked to the ground, blood dripped down from his stomach, where the stick impaled him.

"Of course I did," The dark boy admitted right away without a moment's hesitation. He laughed, "to be honest I've never thought that arsehole would even let you stab him. Lucky for me he did."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't that question a little cliche, golden boy?" Roger's laugh became a chuckle. Ralph wanted to back down, but he just could not. The dark circles under Roger's eyes made him seem a little more intimidating. "Why did you think I pushed your hands?"

Ralph's eyes widened. His vision was starting to get blurry due to all the blood loss.

"What are you going to do to me now?"

Roger casted a shadow on Ralph. His black hair flying in the wind and the fire was still devouring the jungle behind it. The cold black eyes stared down, the smile of malice froze him.

"Isn't the answer a little obvious, golden boy?"

Roger found the knife a new sheath and stuck it in. His hand felt warm from the  dark red liquid. The corners of his lips lifted up into a twisted smile. He pulled the knife out of the flesh and did the same to his stick in the blond's body. He picked up another stick from the ground. Both sticks were sharpened at both ends. Carefully, he rammed both sticks on the ground, then busied himself with the bloodied knife and the two chiefs' heads. The sticks pierced through the soft throats and the tongues. The heads hung on the sticks and wobbled in the wind. Roger wiped the sweat from his forehead, smearing blood from the back of his palm on there. His sweaty black hair stuck a little to his cheeks. He turned to see the headless bodies laying piled up on the ground.

Bad Roger. Bad. The voices told him. What a monster.

The bodies reminded him of the corpses he once saw in his father's basement. He heard the blood-thirsty laugh of the black-haired man as he stabbed the men to death, their blood dying the carpet underneath them. He saw him, and the army knife was thrusting into the lifeless bodies. His father noticed him. He was walking towards him, his blooded hand got closer and closer to Roger's face. The opaque and insane look in the man's black eyes were all too terrifying.

A monster needs to be kept in a cage. The voices continued. Roger held his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Such a bad boy needs to be punished. Bad Roger. Bad. Now go back to your cage, monster. Such a Beast. Such a terrible beast. You're not human, you're a beast.

Monster.

Beast.

The voices repeated the words, and Roger let out the same insane laugh as his father's. The blood in his hands was smeared all over his face and on his raven hair. His lungs felt like they were on fire, much like the jungle, but he kept on laughing.

He understood now, the euphoric feeling his father had when his army knife was stained with that red liquid.

Such a terrible, terrible beast.

The voices went on.