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Ralph raised a hand to push long hair away, and strained his heavy eyelids open to get a clear look at Piggy. He'd felt nearly as blind as Piggy must've been these past few days. Or was it weeks? He couldn't be too sure.
Suddenly Piggy handed him the conch. This happened now, where he would get caught up in his thoughts even despite the fact he could hardly think straight. He felt stupid. As he took the conch and ran his thumbs along it, its smooth, porcelain whiteness reminded him of what was proper and necessary. Piggy motioned him forward.
Without the added weight of age or a proper diet, Ralph had become horribly skinny. He felt dizzy, and sick, and sometimes in the night he'd feel his ribs through his skin, disturbed at the realness of mortality. Sometimes he'd collapse, all too light and weak, and Piggy would catch him halfway down, holding him there until Ralph could see clearly again.
"Ralph!" Piggy pointed. Oh, yes, they were supposed to be transporting the conch to a safer place. In fear of what, neither would admit. Ralph jerked his head again to push hair out of his face, wishing it would stop falling back to where it lay dumbly between his eyes. He focused hard on the ground, feeling the sand caught between his toes. He wasn't too sure where they were going. He glanced back at Piggy, then forward again.
He remembered how to walk. They’d set their sights on a slight formation of sand and rock with a notch in which the conch would fit nicely. It was a good way down the beach. It seemed he could feel every muscle in his body work to take each painstaking step. He could see his destination get closer, and he held onto the conch tightly.
His foot landed on a tiny stone that stuck out from the sand. Unprepared for this, he hissed with the dull pain and stumbled a little. He lifted his head and caught a glimpse of the dark green jungle he’d tried to put out of his mind until now. He turned away, closing his sore eyes, but the image of it lingered. He took another step. Then, once more, he stumbled and fell.
“Ralph!” Piggy gasped, behind him in an instant, barely catching him by his waist. Then he reached for the conch instead, letting Ralph dangle awkwardly by one arm. “Don’t drop it. You’ll break it.” Piggy said, looking down at the conch with the utmost reverence. Urging him back up, Ralph held onto him, seeing Piggy’s eyes wide with care behind mangled glasses. Ralph swallowed, his throat dry. He wondered how Piggy managed to stay so soft and plump in the wake of the island. He mumbled apologies.
Piggy waited patiently for him to recover. Ralph’s ragged breaths slowed, ever thankful for something- some one - to lean upon. The truth of the matter came to him with surprising ease. Piggy was his eyes from which he could see, his brain with which he could think. He'd have never thought it before- before, which might as well have been just a figment of his imagination when it felt all he had ever known was the cut and scrape of leaves and rocks and thorns on his back- but he forgot to care. Where he fell, Piggy caught him. Where the sun blinded him and burnt his skin, Piggy blocked it out, casting pleasant coolness over Ralph that he so badly needed. Piggy lit the fire. The shoe’s on the other foot, now. Or, rather, the shoe’d been thrown out to sea, never to be seen again. It seemed obvious that he should love the fat boy with the glasses. Plain as day, right as rain.
Dazed out of his mind, held in Piggy's arms, Ralph manages. "Thank you."