DAY ONE:
My name is Viktor Golding Hopkins VII, and I like to kill things.  

I killed my first living thing two years ago- it was a cat. Name of Jerry.  Long story involving a garbage disposal and a bar of chocolate.
They said I was sick.  They said I was crazy. I think I’m better now.
They sent me off to a private school. They worried about what I would do in my free time, so they made me join a choir.  Now I’m stuck on an island with this choir.  Stupid choir.  I can’t even sing.

So, anyway, now we’re here.  Some boy named Ralph’s the leader.  I voted for Jack. Jack…  Jack was well raised.  His hair is fire-red and eyes sea-blue.

It is an entrancing contrast, and it continues to fascinate me.
I’m done now.  I’m tired.

DAY TWO:
We made fire.
Fire is indeed good. It means we can cook, dry, and maybe even get off this godforsaken islet.  Today I followed Jack & Ralph around.  They didn’t notice me, thankfully.  The littluns are angering me.  Annoying me.  They’re useless.  It’s driving me crazy.
I feel a raging bloodlust coming on.  That’s not good. Killing is supposed to be bad.  That’s what the counselors told me. I have a pocketknife with me.  Nobody else knows.
If they did, they’d take it from me.
But it’s mine.

Mine.

DAY FOUR I THINK:
It’s some day.  I can’t remember.  There’s no sense of time here.  Just light and dark.
Jack’s coming along nicely.  He’s thinking smarter.  Today he went to hunt.  He didn’t get anything, though.  A shame.

I could use some meat.

I’ve never had cannibalistic tendencies before, but these littleuns…
They’re useless, and I desire meat.  Nah, it’s crazy.
The obvious conclusion would lead to the others shunning me.  I don’t want that particularly.
This Simon kid’s annoying me.  He’s trying to be a saint or something.  He’s too… wholesome.  It’s driving me crazy.




DAY SOMETHING-OR-OTHER
Roger’s an interesting fellow.  Sadistic.
But then again, isn’t everyone?

Human nature dictates that we take pleasure in the pain of others.  I remember school…. There was a word.  Schadenfreude. That’s it.  “Happiness at the misfortune at others.”  It’s not nice by any means.  But everybody does it.

People like Roger and me, we just like it a little more.
Jack found himself some war paint.  Savagity.  That’s what he’s been influenced by.  I don’t think that’s a word.  Eh, we’re on an island.  Doesn’t matter. It’s all crazy, anyway.

DAY X:
There’s talk of a schism.
Jack’s a much more survival-minded leader.  At the rate Ralph’s going, we’ll all die before we’re rescued.

ANOTHER DAY:
The fire went out.
The guard was dropped.
Things are getting a tad hectic.
Samneric saw something.  They said it was a Beast.

I’m not sure.  Might be.  I can’t worry too much about that.
I’m starting to get worried about myself. I don’t think I’m crazy though. Just a little out of control.  Today I killed a littleun.  Now I feel guilty…
In a fit of insanity I clubbed him in the head with a rock, like I saw Roger miming a couple days ago.  I didn’t realize what I had done until I saw his eyes flutter and blood begin to pour from his head.  He slumped down in the sand. I said a word I shouldn’t in school.  I dragged the body off and hid it in the foliage.  Nobody saw me, I think.

But then again, if killing brings me joy, why shouldn’t I be able to have my fun?  We’re on an island…
I’m following rules and standards I don’t need to.
If I want something, I should be able to have it.

POST-MURDER DAY:
Ralph isn’t as pathetic as I considered him before. He hunted a boar.  Didn’t kill him.  But he did wound him
Surprised me.
There are more claims of seeing a Beast.  Jack’s gaining respect.  But Ralph did impress everyone with his boar-hunting escapade.
I’m sick of this bloody island. Everything tastes like salt & sand.  The wind irates me.  Everything’s a waste.

Get me out of here before I go crazy.

DAY OF ORANGES:
I miss Oranges.
I miss music.
I miss reading.
I miss smelling.
I miss society, repulsive as it can be at times.

Jack can’t take control.  He tries for leadership, but fails over and over again.

This kid, Piggy, he’s tubby.  I don’t see what’s the deal.  Why’s he special?  Why’s he part of Ralph’s support?  Jack said that.  Jack said we had to take Ralph down through controlling Piggy.
Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.
Everyone’s confused about the Beast.  He might be from sea, from air, even from the trees.  Maybe we’re all crazy.
Right now I’m sitting a while away from Jack, Roger, and the others.
I miss dear England.
I miss fireplaces.
I miss adults, to a degree.
…. Wait. Where’d Simon go?

DAY OF EFFIGY:
We killed him.
Simon.
We killed him.
First time I’ve ever killed in public.  We all took part in it.
Our savagity is rising.
They all thought that Simon was the Beast.  I didn’t. I saw him coming down earlier. I knew it was him.
And I laughed when I kicked his head in.
This arises new things in me.
It’s kind of crazy.

DAY OF THIEVES:
We stole the Fatty’s glasses. ‘Twas fun.
Beforehand, I crouched in the bushes behind Piggy and Ralph, watching them. All I could think of was an image of me creeping up behind Piggy…
Pulling out my knife.
Slitting his throat like a pig.
I shook it off, though. It’s kind of crazy.


DAY OF RESOLUTION:
I got to live out my fantasy of sorts.  I watched Piggy die, at least.  But now I’m alone.  And definitely crazy.

Let me explain.
They came for glasses.  Roger pushed a rock and killed Fatty.  I loved the sight of his fat head busting open.  Blood going everywhere.  Everything went crazy.

Later, I found Jack.  He was weak, I had decided.  Too weak to lead after Piggy’s death.  He was alone.  I pulled my knife on him, and he quickly turned the tables on me.  Our eyes locked. He said two words to me:
“Leave. Now.”
So I did.  I went into the forest.
Now I’m alone.
All alone.

DAY OF DENOUEMENT:
Alone. And Crazy.

I saw a boy today.  He used to be with us. He had a mark on his face.
I jumped on him, cut his chest open and slit his throat.  When he was motionless, I rubbed his blood on my body.
I climbed the mountain and saw fire and smoke.  All over.  I laughed.
I also noticed a ship on the beach.

The boys were leaving.  I didn’t care.
Who wants society back anyway?  I can always just miss it in my heart.
They’d just tell me I’m crazy.

Now I agree.
Here I stand.  A 12-year old perched on top of an island that’s burning down, with a body covered in blood.
I laughed.

I’ve learned something. Isolation in insanity is far superior to a society where you are condemned for acts that bring you pleasure.

My name is Viktor Golding Hopkins VII, and I like to kill things.