Simon sat in front of the ghastly figure that no longer deserved to be known as The Beast as he idly rubbed his fingertips over his bruised knees. He repeated the pattern over and over, seemingly trying to get rid of the dirt and the old scabs, but without applying enough pressure to actually achieve it, almost caressing them instead. It was all a distraction to avoid focusing on the decomposing body lying hardly 5 feet away from him.

He felt accomplished after detangling the parachute's strings and letting the body rest, but only momentarily. It felt somehow wrong, even if he could not exactly recall why.

He had only seen a dead person once before, at his nanna's funeral. Although it was a distant and muddled memory, he remembered fondly her petite figure lying down in her casket with her rosy chubby cheeks, looking as chummy and peaceful as ever. Nothing like the image in front of him currently.

"She's in a better place now, sweetie"

The voice of his mother echoed through his mind as he took a swift glance at the parachutist and he wondered if he, too, was in a better place now.

He put all his faith in believing so.

He stood up rapidly and started descending the mountain without bothering to look at The Beast one last time. The decadent image was already ingrained in his mind and flooded his senses in an overbearing manner, making him stagger down the hill towards the trickle of smoke that surrounded what seemed to be the new camp, shifted after The Beast's last attack, which had deeply frightened the younger kids. Despite the fact that The Beast was no more, he would still support the change: the farthest they were from that scenery, the better.

As he came down, the first few raindrops that would later form a full-on storm started to coat the creepers and soak his hair, everything was becoming more and more slippery. Then, anxiety hit him: what if Jack, along with his hunters, decided to pay a visit to the decaying body?

He had seen it before; Jack had been punished multiple times back in their choir days for poking dead squirrels and pigeons that he found on his way to school with a stick. He once went as far as putting one in Simon's handbag after finding out it made him nauseous. The thought of it still made him quiver, and made him lose balance, trip and start falling down the hill. He could not exactly determine for how long he was rolling down the mountain, but he eventually stopped.

The littluns ran away and started screaming as he tried to stand up again to no avail. He was certain he had broken more than a couple of bones. He managed to stand on his knees while the taste of sand, blood and bile mingled in his mouth as he tried to articulate something, anything.

"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"

Simon tried to overlap their screaming, not even trying to protect himself, but to inform them on his discovery.

"There's no beast! It's a dead man! On top of the mountain!"

The chanting became louder, and the hunters approached him with a threatening stance. When they were close enough, imitating their pig hunt technique from days before, they stabbed Simon mercilessly, who could only let out desperate screams as the sticks pierced his body.

He closed his eyes tightly, yearning for that better place.

He put all his faith in doing so.