Drip. Drip. Drip. Plop. Ralph groaned as the foul substance continued to splash on his haggard face. He really ought to fix that roof, he thought, as the slimely fluid trickled down. He then shivered as the substance seemed to engulf him in an icy chill or was it really the never ending plague of cold that haunted his bones each day. With a sigh, Ralph dragged his aching body up off the grimy floor and tiredly swiped the soot from his cheek. In the distance, sirens ranged as the small room trembled. Loud cries of fear echoed, as Ralph pushed open the rickety door. Smog steeped in his lungs from the towering factories, as horror strucked cilivans raced to their bomb shelters. Ralph could only mange a faint sneer. Maybe today was his day, he thought. Maybe a passing bomb will finally do …show more content…
Oh, how he hated that horrid color red. The same red which coated his hands in blood. The same red which colored the sun as it raised over the Island, the very same that sweeped out of Simon's body, or the streaks of color smeared across a boy's face. A boy with spear. A boy with that damnable red hair. He scowled as black spots danced across his vision. Enough, he thought, there is no island. Ralph then fingered a small piece of a conch shell in his pocket. A shout startled him and with a jolt, his shell slipped through his fingers. "What are you doing, you stupid boy?! Get to cover!" a man yelled as debris settled around. Ralph turned with a smile. A twisted smile, that spoke of nothing and everything, and eyes that seemed to age be on his measly seventeen years. "Just taking a stroll" he replied contining forward. Another rumble raced acrossed the earth as the sky darken. Ralph had no destation in mind. He had nothing in mind most days, just a fogged up glass plane with no way out. He walked around aimlessly, over spilled garbage and a crumbling bridge with darken