Mother of Demons

I wrote this for a Lord of the Flies creative project for school for which a prompt was to write about what would happen if it was girls on the island instead of boys. Disclaimer that I am not trying to make claims about any inherent differences between genders, but rather commenting on the different societal expectations and how they would be represented symbolically in the context.

The girl with the long, blonde hair pulled herself out of the salty foam of the sea, her schoolbag heavy and filled with sea water. She hoisted herself up onto the rocks, her hair wet, shining in the morning sunlight. She stood on a large stone, her blue eyes scanning her surroundings, taking in a new reality. Her light pink dress had turned a deep magenta, almost red, from the water and was sticking to her bare legs, causing her indescribable discomfort. She sat on the rock in the sun until it dried, trying to collect exactly what had happened, but her mind remained blank, filled only with the scene of the unending ocean and the scent of salt and sunlight. By the time her dress had regained its pale hue, she had accepted that she would never move, just stay there on that rock for eternity.

Somewhere else on the island a girl with short umber hair, cropped around her ears and in a curly mess on top of her head, helped another, whose golden-brown locks fell down her shoulders framing her big green eyes, over a small stream. They’d been laughing about something, almost forgetting the enormity of their situation in the lightness of newfound camaraderie. Scattered around them was metal debris, some of it blackened and smoking. 

“Where do you think we are?” the green-eyed one asked, cautiously watching the ground for roots and rocks.

“No clue.” The short-haired one kicked a sheet of steel, crumpled and discolored. “They didn’t even tell us where we were supposed to end up. Or why they were taking us anywhere at all.”

“My dad told me something like this might happen. He works for the government. He said things haven’t been looking too good lately.”

The short-haired girl let out a cynical laugh. “No kidding.”

They wandered through the trees a little longer, following where the light shone through, and came out on the rocky slope between two cliffs. They saw a pink figure topped with yellow down near the water and ventured over to find the blonde girl sitting absolutely still, silent and expressionless, staring out at the water. 

“Hey,” said the girl with short hair. The blonde girl snapped her head towards them as if she’d been woken, then smiled congenially. 

“Hello!” she said, “I’m Liz. What are your names?”

“Margot,” said the one with green eyes, “and this is Mac.” Margot returned Liz’s friendliness, but her short-haired companion, Mac, remained unimpressed. “We thought we’d look around and see who else was on the island. Seems like we got pretty scattered in the crash.”

Liz stood up now, ruffling her dress which had dried stiffly in the sun and combing a hand through her hair. “I think that’s a fantastic idea.” And so the three girls scoured the island, first around the crash and then farther around the rocky outskirts, to find the others. 

“It would appear,” Liz said that evening, every girl the trio could find rounded up on a cliff’s edge, high above the crashing waves, far from the charred remains of their plane, “that our plane went down. It seems we have reached an unplanned destination.” The girls, the youngest of them only six or seven, nodded solemnly. A few burst into tears. Mac rolled her eyes. Liz put out her hands as if she could halt the sorrow with that simple gesture. “But do not fear. Fortunately, none of us are here alone. We have each other. And we have this beautiful island. Together I believe we can survive – no, thrive! – while we wait for rescue to come. I am positive we will be discovered any day now.”

Liz gave a final, dazzling smile and the girls broke into enthusiastic applause, all with the exception of Mac, who was disinterestedly picking a burdock from the cuff of her jeans. The sun set behind Liz, her tall, thin form silhouetted by the glow, so for a moment she was nothing but a black shadow on a black cliff. But the moment passed as the sun sunk below the horizon and the whole sea scape was washed in the deep blue of the night. 

The next morning the girls gathered again, on the same cliff, Liz standing in front, addressing them as she had the night before. 

“Now, our priority is of course the younger girls. Naturally, those of us who are older must always confirm the safety and wellbeing of the little ones before acting for our own sake.” Liz’s voice took on the tone of a woman much more mature than her, somebody gracious and admirable. The girls applauded again, in awe of Liz’s selflessness, and she bathed in their admiration. “Next we must figure out what to eat. Has anybody seen any sign of a food source?”

A girl a year or two younger than Liz named Lily raised her hand and, after a nod from Liz, said in a quiet voice, “I think I may have seen a fruit tree, over on that side of the island.”

“Wonderful! Would you show a few of the older girls where you saw it?” Liz’s voice took on the inflection of somebody speaking to small children who were objectively beneath them. Lily beamed and nodded happily.

From the back of the crowd where she sat with Margot, Mac called out. “I saw a squirrel, somewhere near the crash.”

Liz gave a strained smile, though her eyes were all annoyance and confusion. “Well, that’s lovely Mac. For future reference I think we should all raise our hands to speak, like dear Lily here has. Anyway, for food–”

“I mean we can eat the squirrel.” The series of appalled gasps from the girls only added to Mac’s frustration. 

Liz settled them and said, “I really don’t think that will be necessary.”

“We can’t survive on only fruit, are you crazy? We’ll have to hunt sooner or later.” Some of the young girls started crying again. 

“Rescue will come any day now,” Liz declared. “We needn’t kill anything.”

_________

Liz plunged the spear into the pink flesh of the pig and tried to ignore the blood spurting out between the thick dark hairs along its spine as she slung the dead creature over her shoulder.

It had been a few months since the girls’ arrival on the island. They hadn’t been counting the days, but the older of the girls all lived by the same schedule since their cycles synced up in the close quarters, an aspect of their life they hadn’t considered until they had to manage on the island. Even Liz had lost some of her elegance in the discomfort of having to make do with leaves and moss. Those still unaffected by such inconveniences lived with equal parts relief that they mustn't worry about it and terror of the day it would happen to them. Beyond the blood was the presence of body hair on the older girls so many had forgotten about, having been long removed by the tacit expectations, those sort of rules they were never told were rules, but accepted seeing that it was what everyone else did. Now the fuzz grew out like grass on their legs, long and wild. 

Rescue was now but an abstract concept, something they brought up to remind themselves why they did anything at all, though it had turned meaningless and intangible. Cell phones were a matter that was brought up in masses and quickly dwindled when it was found that there was no reception and all they could do was play the dinosaur game until the batteries died. With a self reliance they’d never had need for before, the girls fell into a routine, a system, an order. There were those who led, like amiable Liz, kind, pretty Margot and a stunning, long-legged young woman named Olivia who had matured early and earned immediate respect from the group. There were those who found food and those who cared for the little girls and those who built shelters. There was a way that things were, as there always was, and, as always, they followed without question.

Liz grunted under the weight of the sow.

Mac was tired. She’d spent the morning hunting with little luck, and begrudgingly returned home – Not home, she reminded herself, – exhausted and hungry. She set down her spear and collapsed onto the ground of her shelter. The structure, built on the far side of the island where they’d crashed months before, was built out of the remnants of their plane. Aluminum siding leaned against four trees, a sheet of metal laid across it all to cover her from the rain.

Mac was alone. She’d been living out there for months now, and though Margot always said she’d be welcomed back to the Group whenever she wanted to return, Mac wasn’t certain that was how the other girls saw it. Especially not Liz, who Mac thought might be the most insufferable person she’d ever had the displeasure of enduring. She looked around at her makeshift plane-crash abode, thought of Liz’s constant smiles and persisting condescension, and determined she was better alone and starving than tolerating all of that. She missed Margot though.

Mac was lonely.

Margot sat on the beach, where the water sparkled, crashing on the sandy shore. She liked just sitting there, enjoying the beauty of the place. She was on duty keeping watch of the younger girls, and sat on a large stone in the shade as they ran around the beach, swam in the sea, built sand castles. She loved the innocence of it. These children were skinny, malnourished, their ribs visible and cheeks caved, but they played and danced and laughed. It made Margot happy.

“Margot!”

Mac pushed her way through the palm fronds and jungle vines to Margot, whose smile widened at the sight of her. 

“Don’t get too excited,” Mac said. “Not back for good. Just wondering if you’ve got some fruit to spare. And… wanted to see you.” 

Margot made room on the rock and happily shared all the fruit she had left, though Mac refused the majority of it seeing the way Margot’s skin hung limp on her bones.

“Please let me give you some meat. This morning was a bust but I’m sure I can scrounge up something for you–”

“Liz says we needn’t kill. Liz says we have everything we need.” The shame in Margot’s eyes made Mac seethe.

“Liz doesn’t know anything. She’s an idiot if she thinks you can survive like this.”

“Liz is the best of us.” It was a practiced phrase, something rehearsed rather than learned.

Mac sighed and gave up. It wasn’t the first time they’d been through this. “Just remember that when it all goes to hell it wasn’t because I complied.”

Liz ran a hand through her hair as she hiked, an anxious habit she’d adopted though she didn’t remember when. While the others’ hair was tangled and dirty, hers remained shiny and straight if not clean. Her bangs had grown out since the crash, obscuring her vision so that it was hard to see but not inconvenient enough to push it back. She moved on through the wilderness with the pig, walking through the ugly wetlands to avoid the eyes of the girls who had become her followers. Those irenic, innocent, starving girls. Liz never wanted to kill, never really wanted, but she was hungry. She was so hungry and she had that thrilling desire when she saw the pig, one of the ones she kept contained in the privacy of her mind, the dark ones that simply wouldn’t do. Concealed by the leaves, massive leaves that permitted no entry of light, Liz lit her small fire and, smiling, devoured her porcine kill.

“Why don’t you ever wear your hair down?” Margot asked. She wanted to change the subject.

Mac instinctively wiped away the hairs plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her short cut had grown out nearly past her ears, a tangled mess, but she always kept it tied back if she could. “I hate it being in my eyes.”

Margot leaned her head on Mac’s shoulder. “You’d look pretty with it down.”

This comment made Mac indescribably irritated. She clenched her fists, but still she whispered gently, “Thanks.”

They sat like that, leaning on each other, for a while. The sun was beginning to set and the whole island glowed pink except where they sat in the shade, which was glazed in blue shadow. Mac’s eyes fell to Margot’s face, her gaze locked on the horizon, her features highlighted with the rosy hue of the sky. The freckles spattered across her deep olive complexion shone in the evening light and her green eyes were wide and shining, reflecting the scene before them.  She looked so happy. Mac wondered what it was like seeing the world as something so beautiful. But the moment was cut short with a distant scent from somewhere else on the island. Woodsmoke.

The fire had begun small, for roasting the pig. In the swampy region of the forest it was difficult to find dry kindling, but Liz had with her the backpack with which she’d arrived, filled with her schoolbooks and old work. She’d kept them for a long time, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She felt there to be safety in the preservation of them, but now she needed something to burn and suddenly the printed words felt so meaningless. She took out a bow drill one of the girls had made and lit the fire. She made quick work of the animal – she’d never enjoyed a meal this much before.  Beyond the rich flavor of the meat, there was a certain freedom in the consumption of it. This awareness that in the old world she couldn’t have done such a thing, when she was strapped down by the expectations of being prim and proper. But as she roasted another hunk of flesh over a fire, fueled by the last of the girls’ schoolbooks, pages detailing the importance of etiquette aflame before her, she felt a freedom she had never experienced before the island. 

Slowly, she added every book to the fire before throwing in the whole backpack. It was addictive and exhilarating, watching old rules burn before her. She watched each page curl, blacken, and burn, sending black smoke into the dark canopy. She wanted more. A branch, another. Suddenly the whole section of the forest was alight, even the wet, marshy logs catching fire. 

Liz smiled.

Mac had a bad feeling about the smoke.

“It’s probably just Claire testing bow drills,” Margot said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

For whatever reason, Mac didn’t believe this. “I’m going to check it out,” she said, standing. “This place is all forest. One stray flame… there’d be no stopping it.” She retied her hair to keep her short ponytail tight and set off in the direction of the smoke, which was increasing by the second. Her pace quickened as the scent of burning wood became stronger, stepping cautiously through the marsh. A bright light spreading swiftly from trunk to trunk brought her to a stop. 

“Jesus.” 

Mac didn’t notice the person until the head snapped in her direction at the sound of her voice. Somebody tall, whose bright blonde hair reflected flames.

“Liz?” If Mac could pick anybody to let burn alive, it would have been Liz. But even she had to at least make an effort to help her. “Liz, come out of there! We can’t stop the fire at this point but if we can get everyone to the beach, by the water, then–”

“No.”

“What?” She had to yell over the roaring of the flames, now surrounding her as well.

“I want to see it burn.” Liz’s voice had lost its usual condescending edge and had taken a more pensive tone, but she was as calm as always. 

“Did you do this on purpose?” 

Liz didn’t respond. Mac strode towards her, her anger winning out over her fear.

“What is wrong with you? You lead the girls to starvation then light a fire in the middle of nowhere just so you can see it burn? I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone more idiotic, more irresponsible–” 

The spear came around her throat before she could process Liz moving, Mac’s neck bent awkwardly in Liz’s hold. The point nearly reached her skin when Mac pushed Liz to the ground with her shoulder. She halted her efforts to rise, forcing against the spear in Liz’s palm with one hand, the other holding down Liz’s right arm, her knee on her stomach, while the flames rose up higher and higher around them. Mac noticed the blood lining her lips. 

Mac took off running, realizing holding Liz down any longer would mean certain death for the both of them. She outran Liz and the flames, refusing to stop until she reached the beach where Margot was, out of breath and sweating from the heat of the fire. 

“Margot…” she wheezed, pulling her to her feet. “Margot, we need to go.”

Margot smiled a little with amusement, but her face was mostly creased with worry. “Go where, Mac?”

Instead of answering, Mac took her hand and pulled her through the trees to her solitary shelter, ignoring Margot’s protests about putting the younger girls to bed. She took her to the small, rocky beach where they found an odd vessel constructed of scrap metal and branches, two scorched airplane seats taking up nearly all of the space inside; Mac’s project of the last five months.

Margot stopped struggling, caught with curiosity. “What is it?”

“It’s a boat– or it will be– or it was supposed to be, I mean, but we need to go, and we need to go now, so this is as finished as we get.”

“A… a boat?”

“Yes, Margot I’m telling you, Liz is crazy, the island is–”

Margot just smiled placidly. “Liz is the best of us.”

Mac took her hands, pleading. “Margot, please. Can you just trust me?”

Something passed over Margot’s face and she said, “Okay.”

“Okay? Okay, okay, thank you, now come on–” Mac began to step into the boat, taking out the oar she’d fashioned out of a long stick and two pieces of metal.

“What about the girls?” Margot glanced behind her, now seeing the fire spreading rapidly through the forest. 

“If they’re smart they’ll go to the water. There’s only room for the two of us. If we find land, I mean if we survive, we can send others back for them.”

“We shouldn’t leave…”

“Margot, please.”

Margot took a deep breath and began to step onto the boat, her eyes locked with Mac’s. It was growing dark, but the fire glowed behind them. She steadied herself on Mac’s shoulder as she uncertainly put her weight on the boat– then stopped. 

“Margot, keep moving, we need to go–” Mac lifted her eyes from the shaking boat and noticed now the spear that had pierced Margot’s chest.

“Margot isn’t going anywhere, Mac.” Though the sweet, melodic voice gave her away, Liz was almost unrecognizable. She was covered in soot, her pink dress black and muddy. There were scratches all over her legs from running carelessly through the woods. But her hair was the most striking difference: half of it had burned off, nothing but black, ashen follicles adorning the right side of her scalp. What was left was knotted and dirty, full of sticks and sand. She peered at Mac through what was left of her bangs. Margot’s limp body hung skewered between them, head tilted down and blood spilling out of the mouth. 

“Poor Margot,” Liz said pityingly. “She never did anything wrong. She always followed the rules. Why did you do this to her, Mac?”

Mac backed up to the edge of the boat, rocking in the waves that seemed to be increasing in size and ferocity each time they crashed her back into the beach. She regretted it the moment she stepped back when Margot’s corpse lunged forward onto the beach without her support. “You’re crazy.” It was all she could think to say, her voice shaky and in shock. 

Liz didn’t say anything. The fire had reached the tree line surrounding them, and the sky was dark now. Mac sat down, stabbed her oar into the beach and pushed off. The waves took the boat before she could finalize her decision to abandon the burning island.

The body with the dull green eyes fell into the water helpless to the angry clutch of the tide, while the girl with the tied back hair rowed into the infinite dark of the night.

The one with the burnt, ratted hair smiled from the flaming shore.