Can you please stop throwing rocks at the littluns? (Maurice x Roger)
Collecting piles of wood to strengthen the scorching flames of the campfire, snatching fruit after fruit from a palm tree about a hundred miles up in the air, rebuilding the shelters with nearby materials and praying it doesn’t collapse. After such a long day of toilsome labor, everybody was practically half-asleep, sluggishly dragging their feet to the next chore. Noticing this, and being the hero of a leader he is, Ralph blew the conch, called a meeting and decided to let everybody take a… brief… rest.
Now, present-time, almost two hours later, everybody is still scattered along the beach, having a blast. Jack is sprawled across the sand with some other members of the choir, singing (or at least he’s attempting to sing– being more out of tune than an ancient piano, and all) an old hymn. Piggy is in the water, clinging onto Ralph’s back and insisting they go back to shore. Simon is standing on the barrier that divides the forest and beach, attempting to catch a butterfly. As for everybody else, they’re up to their usual shenanigans.
Now, you may all be asking one question: what on earth is Maurice doing?
The answer would be living in the lap of luxury. He’s sitting against a stone in the cool shade, a novel in his hand. He has food, some tropical fruits he snatched from a tree, and a drink, fresh, cold water in a coconut shell. Everything is going absolutely swell for Maurice. What could possibly go wrong?
“MAURICEEEEEE! I NEED YOUR HELPPPPP!”
Standing in front of Maurice, also being at the most convenient angle and blocking the rays of sunlight, is a littlun. Tears are welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill any second. He looks like a pig in mud, especially with the discheleved state of his hair. In his trembling palm, he’s clutching onto a rock.
“What’s wrong?” The littlun begins to sob into his arms.
“He…he keeps th-throwing rocks at… at us.”
He can barely spit out a proper sentence. The older boy lets out an exaggerated sigh; even with the unbearable temptation to simply ignore the situation and get back to whatever he was doing, he knows he must take at least some sort of action. After all, the whole Roger-throwing-rocks situation has been an issue ever since the first day on this island. At first, it was absolutely hilarious. Even Maurice joined in on the fun, destroying sandcastles and creating the feeling of sorrow. He eventually stopped, though. Roger did not.
It has gotten to the point where everybody made the collective decision to keep medical supplies nearby, ready to treat any littlun that comes back with a nasty concussion.
“O…over th-there.” He points to the shoreline, where the dark-haired boy is seated upon a great boulder. Between his crossed legs, a handful of pebbles, waiting to be launched at the next, unsuspecting victim.
Finally, Maurice stands up. The bones in his legs crack, making him wince. Nevertheless, he trails along the beach until he is face to face with Roger.
Only from the close proximity between them Maurice could notice the smirk tugging on the corner of Roger’s lips. He definitely knew what this conversation was going to be about.
“Can you please stop throwing rocks at the littluns?” Maurice picks at his lip, looking over at some of the littluns playing in the sand. “I usually wouldn’t care, but the littluns keep giving me crap about it, so…”
“I'd be surprised if somebody like you got so butthurt over my actions. Thank god you explained your reasoning.”
“Hm, let me think.” The boy pretends to be in deep thought before uttering his answer. “Nope.”
Roger picks up a nearby seashell. He hastily retracts his arm back, launching the item forward and in Maurice’s direction.
Slightly surprising himself, Maurice flings his hands forward from instinct and smacks the flying object out of the way.
“Nice try. I’m not leaving, though.”
Before Roger can even respond, Maurice is already striding towards him, hands in his pockets. He rests against the boulder, being right beside Roger’s dangling legs.
Both boys look ahead, being met with the ethereal view of the ocean. They sit in silence, the crashing of the waves, and the conversations between everybody else, being the only forms of noise.
“Y’know what this reminds me of?”
“That tree house we built a couple years back. And how we would always stay there for hours, just chatting and watching the sunset. D’you remember?”
Roger glances at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Of course I do.” He mumbles.
“Why don’t we do things like that anymore?” Maurice wonders for a moment, then chuckles. “Probably 'cause we’re trapped on an island, but other than that, why?”
“I guess we sort of… drifted apart… after the plane crash.”
Maurice glances over his shoulder, noticing how Roger picks up a rock from his pile, toys it between his fingers, and examines the object in the sunlight. A glint of interest and joy is shown in his eyes, something that Roger usually lacks.
“Pretty nice collection you got there.”
Roger shrugs, a shy smile on his face. He must really have a soft spot for this kind of stuff…
A light bulb flickers in Maurice’s head.
“Hey, Roger, would you be interested in listening to an offer I have?”
“I know a place on this island, close to where the big mountain is. It has, like, trillions of rocks there. A wide variety too. So, I was wondering, would you maybe want to go together? Add more rocks to your collection? Go once, or twice, or as frequently as you’d like, during the week?”
“Well, what’s in it for you?”
“Not having the littluns bother me every hour of the day.” Maurice forgot to mention one more thing. Finally fixing the drifting friendship between him and Roger. He’d mention that later, though.
Maurice widely grins, wrapping his hand around Roger’s shoulders. Roger can’t help but return the smile.
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