"Ralph! Honey, it's gonna be ok. You're ok. Shhh “I start as a warm hand is placed on my knee, bringing me back from the living nightmare that has become my life. Slowly, I turn my tear-streaked face to gaze at the woman before me, her voice finally penetrating through my subconscious. "Where did you go Ralph?" she asks gently. We both know that she knows full well where my mind had taken me. I have been seeing my psychiatrist Jane at least three times a week since the rescue. Still, the question causes me to freeze as vivid flashes of the nightmare flit through my mind. I break out in a cold sweat. My lip quivers against my will. "What happened?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I fix my eyes on the pale blue carpet and pick at the matching sofa I am sitting on. When I can finally trust my voice, I continue. "It was a 'good Island'" (Golding 34) my voice breaks. "We explored it those first few days, me, Simon, and Jack" I let the sentence trail off as I drift back into the memories.
I don't know how long it is before I come back to reality this time. Jane is still sitting across from me, her gaze intent on her notepad as she jots down her observations. She notices that I am looking at her and turns her focus towards on me. "Let's try something new" she states lightly. "Why don't you tell me about some of the things that being on The Island has taught you?" I laugh bitterly at the suggestion. Well, what could it hurt? I take a deep breath and let it back out again.
"I learned that not everything is what it seems" I say, striving for an indifferent tone.
"Can you explain that for me?" Her gaze intensifies at my response.
"Well, I thought it was a 'good island' but it wasn't. It wasn't a good island at all. It was a horrible, wretched Island!" I say bitterly.
"Go on" Jane encourages.
"I learned that friends change and can turn their back on you.” I say much quieter "I thought that Jack was my friend, but he turned everyone against me; even Samneric. They were gonna 'do' me." I shudder as a memory explodes through my mind.
"What was to be done, then? The tree? Burst the line like a boar? Either way the choice was terrible.
A single cry quickened his heart-beat and, leaping up, he dashed away toward the ocean side and the thick jungle till he was hung up among the creepers; he stayed there for a moment with his calves quivering. If only one could have quiet, a long pause, a time to think!
And there again, shrill and inevitable, was the ululation sweeping across the island. At that sound he shied like a horse among the creepers and ran once more till he was panting. He flung himself down among some ferns. The tree, or the charge? He mastered his breathing for a moment, wiped his mouth, and told himself to be calm. Samneric were somewhere in the line, and hating it. Or were they? And supposing, instead of them, he met the chief, or Roger who carried death in his hands?" (Golding 196).