Figurative Language in Lord of the Flies

Within the irregular arc of coral the lagoon was still as a mountain lake.

The palms that still stood made a green roof.

He turned over, holding his nose, and a golden light danced just over his face.

"We've got to make smoke up there--or die."

When these breezes reached the platform the palm fronds would whisper.

His ordinary voice sounded like a whisper after the harsh note of the conch.

The smoke was a tight little knot on the horizon and was uncoiling slowly.

"If Jack were leader, it would be all hunting all of the time."

His face puckered, the tears leapt from his eyes.

Piggy stood and the rose of embarrassment faded slowly from his cheeks.

This choir perched like black birds on the criss-cross trunks and examined Ralph with interest.

The great rock loitered, poised on one toe, decided not to return, moved through the air, fell.

There were more littleuns then could be counted and Piggy was soon overwhelmed.

He noticed how the folds of his shirt were stiff like cardboard.

As the echoes died away so did the laughter.

At midday the sun was an angry eye.

The forest stirred, roared, flailed.

A flurry of wind made the palms talk and the noise seemed very loud now.

The afternoon sun emptied down invisible arrows.

Ralph dropped words like heavy round stones among the little groups that crouched or squatted.