Saturday, October 12, 2019

Lord Of The Flies Story :: essays research papers

The war was over, but not without casualties. Numerous ships, planes and factories had been bombed with regular bombs, and London was totally destroyed - by a single atomic bomb. Only derelicts lived there now, not knowing of the harmful radiation that surrounded what once was the great capital.Slowly though, things were getting back to normal, shops began opening, and the war started to shift to the back of people's minds. Life was becoming more normal, but the memory of the war was still there, and always would be. Unfortunately, my memories of our time on the island would never shift to the back of my mind - I would never forget what the war meant to me. I might not have been killed, though I wish I had been, I might not have lost my home or seen London go up a huge mushroom cloud of bright red light, but I had lived with people that hardly deserve that title, people that became animals, people that were worse than animals - murderers. And I myself, was one of them.I was slowly getting better, but I never got through a night without hearing the chant and Simon's furtive screams as we jabbed, attacked and mauled him, without seeing Piggy's fat body flying into the air and then crashing down on the rocks. I had never recovered from those experiences and at no time had a job. I live in a small, damp apartment above a coin laundry. The greatest pleasure I had in life was feeding the pigeons in the park. I would get what stale bread I could from the bakery to feed the birds. They would rush at me when they saw me and fight for the small scraps of bread before it had even hit the ground. They were animals, but not like Jack and the others, they were kind animals, they never hurt anyone - they went about their lives regardless of us. Many times I wished that I too could be a pigeon. I wanted to lead the simple life that they did, I wanted to forget what had happened, I wanted to escape the plaguing memories.It was Tuesday morning and I was feeding pigeons in the park. They were fighting for the pathetic scraps of stale bread I threw on the ground as usual, looking at me begging me with their eyes for more.

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