This was an assignment from school that I had in 8th grade- rewrite the ending to Lord of the Flies. I was just a touch morbid back then, and was experimenting with an overly descriptive and rambling style. Even years later, I'm not the best to look at this and see where I've gone wrong. Some small things are edited for continuity, but the majority is unchanged.
I'm posting this for sentimental reasons, and to see if any kind reviewers are willing to offer some concrit.

Disclaimer- I obviously do not own Lord of the Flies, and at any rate this was done as a school assignment. I did get an A+ on it, but somehow that's not the same of being the author of a classic.

Ralph lay in the tangled brush deep in the forest, listening. He was listening for anything; anything that could let him know whether or not he was safe. He was staying still, so they could not hear him, so he could ignore the throbbing bruises that covered him. Ralph was silent, still, listening, and scared. He was the hunted, and the hunters were just as smart as he was; they could catch him if he made one mistake, and the stress of fear and panic was balancing on the edge of unreason, causing him to think no better than the pigs that hid in the vines around him.

The hunters were surrounding him, and Ralph remembered when they had hunted for those pigs. They had done so on his order, when the restraints of society were still in their minds. Now, now they were no longer the young boys that wore collared shirts and ties. Now they were a savage image of their former life, with clay masks smeared across their faces, blinding any view of the line between right and wrong. Nearby, a hunter crashed through the jungle, looking blindly around for Ralph, snapping him back into the reality of his situation. His body tensed, and Ralph prepared to run. His mind quickly thought up a strategy, but it was broken and pierced by the shadows reminding him of just how easy it would be for them, the hunters, to kill him.

By using the same instinct and savagery that led the small island society into ruin and discord, Ralph erupted from his hidden enclosure in the vines and ran screaming at the hunter. As he raised a sharpened stick dropped by the earlier hunters, Ralph vaguely recognized the face of Roger as he drove the wood into his hunter's thigh and watched as the other boy dropped to the ground, crippled, with a scream. Ralph took no notice of the attention that would come in his direction, and ran blindly away from the fallen boy.

The dirt that matted Ralph's hair and discolored his flesh was joined by the red blood of Roger and the sweat that poured off his skin as he ran. Ralph's sudden need to get away from what he had caused cast a blanket over his mind, and in his panic Ralph ran towards the fire. The instinct that told him fire meant safety from animals that would kill, would steal his life away, failed as he ran into the to the animals called humans that gathered around the fire, animals that were very much prepared to steal his life.

Although their shock blinded them, the boys had gathered around the fire to receive instruction on how to hunt him, and were armed with the spears that were meant for his body alone. Within moments, the hunters had cornered Ralph, and their leader came forward to deliver his pain. In Jack's eyes, the beast shone through; Ralph saw the Lord of the Flies' mockery. He told him of how he had failed the boys. He told him of how he had killed the only voices of reason that remained. How he had destroyed the minds of Piggy and Simon, as Jack's face loomed closer and closer. 'Ha! Fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt down and kill!' It's words lingered in Ralph's head as he lowered his eyes to rid himself of the hypnotic effect that this destroyer of society had on his declining mind.

Jack reached out and jerked up Ralph's head. He leered at the fallen chief, and Ralph felt something stir inside him amongst the fear; hatred spawned, and with it, the beast. The beast grew stronger in Ralph as Jack jeered at how his pathetic attempts to escape had resulted. Ralph heard the Lord of the Flies tell him one last thing, before he too was swept over the edge: 'You are a silly little boy, just an ignorant, silly little boy.'

A hand reached out, and Ralph, detached as if a spectator from within his own body watched as he pulled Jack into the blaze behind him. Jack's screams filled the air, and Ralph could only watch as the beast that had ruled Jack disappeared, and the small and frightened boy that remained reached out his hand, pleading for help. As Ralph's own hand mirrored the movement, the last remnants of the dying beast resurfaced, and Jack grabbed and pulled, tugging Ralph in the inferno with him. Both of their anguished cries rang in the air, and the remaining boys watched on in a mixed horror and morbid fascination as the flames swallowed them whole.

The sand behind the watchers crunched, and the boys saw the only adult that they had seen in weeks run up only to stare at the flames. The boys' one savior from the misery and madness of the beast, an officer of society, an adult had come. The beast cackled and twisted the flames as the man stared on in disbelief; he was too late.