Lord of the Flies

by William Golding

became absorbed beyond mere happiness as he felt himself exercising control over living things.

“What I mean is . . . maybe it’s only us.” “Nuts!” That was from Piggy, shocked out of decorum. Simon went on. “We could be sort of. . . .” Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind’s essential illness. Inspiration came to him. “What’s the dirtiest thing there is?” As an answer Jack dropped into the uncomprehending silence that followed it the one crude expressive syllable. Release was immense.