Dawn broke golden over the ocean, the waters themselves as calm and serene as a freshly awakened sleeper. Fog clung to the surface like the remnants of a blanket as the ripples lazily caught and held tiny slivers of the meager light that managed to get through the thickening shroud. Not a soul stirred in the calm; no bird winging through the sky nor playful fish leaping from the waters to taste the morning air before plunging back into the deep embrace of the sea. It seemed as though this was the world's edge, where nothing existed but calm and quiet.
Slowly emerging from the mist like the ships many times its size, an object floated on the surface of the waters, the waves rocking it ever so gently like a cradle. It was box-shaped, about the size of a small bed, and as the hazy morning sunlight landed upon its surface, it shone like a beacon, so much brighter than the ocean's reflective surface. The object was indeed a box; ornately decorated with swirls and handles on either side, but what made it so remarkable was the purpose of the box's glow, for had anyone been around to inspect it, they would have found it to be made of solid gold. But nobody was around to question how such a box came to be floating upon the ocean's waters, or how it could be floating at all for that matter, yet there it was, moving slowly forward with some unseen tide as easily as though it were made of driftwood.
As the dawn's light grew brighter, banishing some of the morning's fog, the lid to the box suddenly began to shudder, as though the light were causing it too to vanish. With a barely perceptible whisper, the lid slid open, the hinges making no sound at all. As if by some enchantment, the vessel did not capsize with the weight of the lid now shifted to one side, and now the contents of the box were open to the salty sea air, the remnants of fog eagerly reaching its smoky tendrils to stroke the box's soft inside. It was lined with dark blue cloth, plush to the touch and slightly furred with velvet. Inside a form lay, as though in slumber, but before the fog could reach further down in exploration, the figure seemed to suddenly give forth a billowing cloud of dust, rising out of the box to blow away with the wind, carrying the last of the fog with it and revealing a sky adorned with white, puffy clouds and presiding over a still-calm sea. As though the dust had merely been fragments of sand left from the sandman's last visit, the figure in the box stirred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with small fists and looking around him in astonishment. The figure was a young boy of about six, a large, veritable pouf of curly black hair framing a dusky face, large brown eyes reflecting the glint of gold emanating from his makeshift boat. A small hand reached up to caress his face, dainty fingers almost completely obscured by a long, crumpled sleeve. His forehead crinkled in confusion, and looking about at his cushioned resting place, he beheld that his pants were in a similar state; child's feet poking out from the too-big garment's legs, shoes laying haphazardly at the foot of the boat. He had a strange feeling that something was different, that he at one point DID fit these strange clothes, and he could not explain how he suddenly came to be so small. Little did he know that he was in strange and wondrous waters, and it had worked a transformation upon him; his old self had vanished in a puff of dust, leaving him fresh and new, and without any recollection of what had happened or how he had come to be there. He could not even remember his own name, but being a child, he did not allow it to worry him as a normal adult might. Instead he reached down to lazily bat at the water lapping against the side of the boat, his face breaking into a smile as he saw colorful fish swim up to investigate his small brown fingers before darting away into oblivion. He wasn't worried that he was stranded out in the middle of the ocean; childlike wonder kept his mind on happier things, and soon he was laying back into the boat's soft insides, head resting on the now enormous pillow, watching the clouds go by and ascertaining shapes as they drifted from his sight, completely unaware that the water surrounding his boat was slowly changing; the temperature was rising, and glinting just below the surface of the water, with sparkling glimmers that matched those of his boat, golden arrows were pointing in the direction he was heading.
He didn't know how long he had been watching the clouds, but he realized it must have been for a really long time, because a sudden jolt caused him to sit up with a start, and to his astonishment he found that his boat had come ashore onto an island, one had most definitely not seen on any of the horizons before laying back to daydream. The sand was sparkling, the palm trees along the shore whispering words of welcome as a warm breeze stirred their fronds. In the distance he could make out mountain peaks, tall and covered with greenery as wispy clouds similar to the ones that had greeted him as he awoke wound their way between them. He could see a waterfall, with pure, fresh water cascading down into some unseen pool deep in the jungle. Off to his right he could see a massive rainbow, spanning a great distance but he couldn't see what was beneath it. Off to his left, he thought he could almost see a puff of smoke, like an Indian's smoke signal, but it was gone in an instant, and another did not appear. It was a beautiful place, and one the young boy found oddly familiar.
Before he could give any more thought to his whereabouts, he suddenly heard a loud and unmistakable sound; a rooster's crow. Almost expecting to see a rooster even though the sound had come from above him, the boy looked up and he gasped in astonishment. Seven figures flew straight at him seemingly from nowhere; the first and largest flying straight as an arrow, and the others more with the gait of fledgling birds, wobbly and unsure. The first landed light as a feather onto the lid of the boat, and the young boy saw that it was another boy, dressed all in green from head to toe. He wore tapered shoes, and a dagger was strapped to his belt. A green cap decorated with a bright red feather sat jauntily on top of a mop of red hair, and the eyes beneath them sparkled with curiosity and more than a hint of mischief. Behind him, landing clumsily in a large squirming pile upon the sand, six smaller boys dressed in various animal skins struggled to be the first to rise to their feet and regard the newcomer.
The one standing on his lid was the first to speak. "That's some boat you have there, kid." The young boy just blinked for a moment before speaking, his voice high and soft and, he realized to himself, unchanged. "Is that what this is?" One of the other flying boys, a lanky figure in a fox's skin, laughed rather mockingly as he trotted over. "How can you not know if you're in a boat or not? We just watched you sail up here from..." He gestured vaguely towards the ocean, now bright blue and infinite in the distance without a boat or other island to be seen. A smaller boy, this one dressed as a rabbit, had come up without a word and was now examining the swirling decorations on the side of the boat. "This...this is all gold!" He straightened up and looked at the boy with wide eyes. "Are you a king?"
The word caused a small spark deep within the boy's brown eyes, and he almost had a fleeting glimpse of something...sparkling clothes that seemed to be his...adoring people screaming...something...his name? "I...I was, I think. I don't know; I can't seem to remember." This seemed to please the figure on his boat. "I bet you were exiled after your memory was erased by a magic spell! Maybe an evil advisor took over your kingdom and banished you! What an adventure! Too bad you can't remember it all." He looked down at the boy with a frown, as though the fault were somehow his. "We can't even help you get back if you don't remember where you came from to begin with."
The boy started suddenly as he felt something pawing at his hair. Whirling around, he noticed the smallest boy, wearing the guise of a skunk, pulling his hand back quickly with a look of guilt on his face as he balanced himself on the edge of the boat. The fox boy grinned. "Tootles just likes your hair, kid; it reminds him of a sheep." The youngest boy's name seemed to trigger another spark in the boy's eyes, and they widened like a twin pair of saucers. "Did you say Tootles? As in the lost boy Tootles?" The boys collectively gasped, and the boy in green was so startled that he fell off of the boat's lid and onto the sand. "You know about us? How?"
The boy grasped the sides of his boat, his breath becoming ragged with excitement. He knew now why he felt so at ease here, so free of worry. Somehow he knew this place; its stories, its residents...everything it seemed but the fact that it was here, before his eyes, as real as the world he had left behind. "I know about all of you!" He turned to look at the boy in green, who was picking himself up and dusting sand off of his green tunic. "Especially you, Peter Pan! I've always wanted to come here and be young forever, just like you! Oh please let me stay here; I promise I'll be a really great lost boy! I don't have to be a king anymore and I don't care, if it means spending the rest of my life here with you!"
Blinking at the strong surge of eagerness from this boy, Peter Pan stared for a full minute, quite a long time for him to be standing still. Finally, he said "What's your name, kid?" He was about to reply that he had forgotten it, but a final jolt of memory, this one so weak that it must surely be the last, gave with its last breath the very thing asked of him. "My name...my name is...Michael." All of the Lost Boys perked at the name. A rather round boy in a bear suit scratched his head. "I think WE had a Michael once." Two twin boys in raccoon skins bounced in place excitedly, speaking in unison. "We can't remember; what was he like?" The bear boy shrugged his shoulders. "I forget."
Nodding his head at the Lost Boys, Peter turned back to the boy in the golden boat. "Well we can't have TWO Michaels, even if one's not here; it'll get confusing. We wouldn't know if it was you or the other Michael that isn't here anymore, in case we talk about him, even if we don't exactly remember him." He floated gently up and landed cross-legged back onto the lid, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see..." His face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "I have it!" He turned back to the Lost Boys, who had been looking just as thoughtful as their leader, and now looked hopeful; Peter always had the answer! "Remember when the Wendy was here? She had another name; Darling, remember? She had two names." Without getting up, he turned to the boy. "Well kid, do you have another name?"
Luckily, before his last memory faded away, it had given his entire name, but like many children, the boy didn't see fit to mention it; not when a simple first name would do. "Jackson," he said proudly, "My other name is Jackson." The boys hooted, and Peter Pan smiled. "We don't have any Jacksons, so that'll do." Standing up straight and tall, he drew his dagger and laid the flat onto the boy's shoulder. "By the power of Neverland and all the magic it has, I, Peter Pan, make you, Jackson, the newest Lost Boy!" The other boys cheered enthusiastically as Peter descended to the sand once more, reaching out to the boy with his hand to help him out of the boat. The boy, Jackson, took Peter's hand and climbed out, his bare feet sinking into the plush before clambering out onto the sand. Being too big to start with, he had left the pants behind, but the overly large shirt went past his knees, even if the sleeves billowed out below his arms and made him look ready to take flight like an ungainly bird. Remembering the other boys' entrance, it made Jackson smile; he would fit right in alright. Grasping Peter's hand tightly, he gasped as a streak of golden light flew out from the jungle, passing so closely over his head that he heard the thrumming of wings like a hummingbird, and he just managed to catch a glimpse of a tiny figure with glimmering wings and a small green dress before the golden dust left in its wake settled on him like snow, and he felt his feet leave the ground, grains of sand falling from his toes. He didn't even look back as he flew away with Peter, the Lost Boys in their wake, but if he had, he would have seen a strange sight. The golden boat that had brought him here gave a single shudder, and then it vanished completely in a puff of sparkling golden mist, so similar to the fog that had sheltered it on the journey. The waves rushed forward to envelop the dent left in the shore by the heavy craft, and before they receded, they carried one last token of the small boy's arrival; a single white glove, festooned with brilliant, glimmering sequins. It almost seemed to wave on its own accord as the waters pulled it down, and then it was gone, and the beach was deserted once more.
Welcome home, Michael.