This is my first Peter Pan fic yaaay! Haha, well please R&R!
Disclaimer- I don't even own this computer…..
Don't Cry"Shh, shh it's okay now, don't cry, don't cry," I whispered into his small ear as he sobbed, his tiny face buried into my chest. I rubbed my hand on his back and gently kissed the top of his head to comfort him. He looked up at me and I swear my heart broke. He was so happy, so full of joy, constantly energetic. His hazel eyes filled with the pure innocence of childhood, his brown ringlets framing his adorably chubby face. How I got to this I frequently ponder, but I'll never forget.
She was so beautiful. The same hazel happiness glowed around her day and night. Always hugging and kissing her children, playing with them, loving them. It had been her dream since a small child to have a family and spread her love and knowledge to them. Something I could never understand, but what I will always be grateful for. Then she grew sick, very sick. So sick she couldn't stay at home anymore with her children and husband. She had to leave, something I did understand, but I detested every moment of. I was only twelve, but my world had already crashed on me.
One day we were all there to visit her at the hospital. She asked to see me alone. I went to her and grabbed her hand, hoping it could save me from the tears brimming my eyes and flooding my mind.
"Nina…" she smiled weakly. Her youthful face became wrinkled and tired, and the beautiful golden locks were gone. The same golden locks that I envied as a child as I would entangle myself in them every evening, wishing to have such beautiful curls. But now, all that was left of her youth were her beautiful hazel eyes.
"Yes," I said faintly. I could feel my heart sinking inside of me.
"Nina, you've grown so fast…." She said sadly.
"Yes I know," I said with slight arrogance. Something I had taken pride in was my maturity. I did not recognize her grief with my development, she was dying, there was much more to be distressed about.
"Slow down."
That was unexpected. "What?" I choked back my tears at the sight of my failing mother.
"Get that book over there," she picked up her withering hand and pointed to her nightstand. One touch could send her hand crumbling down, like a leaf in the wind.
I obeyed and took a green book from the stand. I held it out to her.
"No," she shook her head. "Keep it."
I looked at the cover. In big gold letters it said, 'Peter Pan.' I looked back at my mother who was smiling with every part of her being. My stare feel into her hazel gaze
and I cried. I couldn't hold it anymore, the years of love and nights of frustration all came pouring out in that moment.
"Don't cry," she begged, placing her pale hand on my shoulder.
"I love you mom," I cried letting go of the hand I had held to so tightly.
"I love you too," she said before withering of into a sleep.
She died two nights later.
Andy remembered so little of her. But it had broken our family. I constantly had to take care of Andy, our father constantly had to work. The stress of our burdens almost matched with the anguish of our loss. I had lost many friends over the years, and my father had lost much of his patience. He was tired, and became easily angered with his children.
Andy had no way of understanding that. So when he drew on the walls of his bedroom he wasn't expecting any outcome but praise for his strong sense of individuality and creativity. Unfortunately he was left with horrible screaming and an outbreak of anger, which he confused with hatred.
"Daddy hates me," he said to me.
"No, no don't say that, that's not true," I held him closer to me. The blue walls of his room seemed to be closing in on us with each doubt of our family's love.
"Why did he yell at me?" he asked, playing with the buttons of my shirt.
There were so many things I could say. Because he's angry, because you weren't suppose to do that I thought. Because you remind him of the greatest loss in his life.
"Have you ever heard of Peter Pan?" I contested with instead.
"Huh?"
"Well have you?" I said in mock surprise.
"Uh…I think so," he stopped fidgeting with the button and gave me his full attention.
"Really? Who is he?" I asked.
"Um…" he wrinkled his nose in thought. "A fairy right?"
"No," I laughed, "that's Tinkerbell!"
"Who?"
And so off I went, into a tale about a boy who never had to grow up, who never had parents and never had rules. He lived with a bunch of other boys and a fairy. The lost boys and Tinkerbell. I told him of their adventures in Neverland, the most beautiful place imaginable. Their adventures with Indians and pirates and mermaids. I told him about the average children, Wendy and her brothers, and how they were able to go there by following a star.
He gazed up at me in wonder. "Can we go there," he asked.
"Oh yes, absolutely," I said tapping his button nose lightly.
"When?" he said in awe.
"Whenever you want, all you have to do is close your eyes, I think of the most beautiful place ever, with pirates and lost boys and Peter Pan," I promised.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I'm tired," he yawned. It was well into the night.
"You should go to bed," I advised him.
"No," he said shortly.
"No?" I was surprised with this sudden attempt at rebellion.
"I'm going to Neverland," he said stubbornly.
I smiled. I had to bite my lip from laughing. "I don't think you should," I said sternly. Someone has to play the bad guy.
"I don't care, you can't stop me!" and with that he crawled out of my lap and underneath his covers. I sat at the edge of his bed watching him drift slowly to sleep.
"I'm coming Peter…" He mumbled quietly.
Not even a mile away from Neverland, I thought to myself examining him as he hugged his brown teddy close to his self.
I stood up when I was sure of his departure and sat on the windowsill next to his bed. Outside his window I could see only one star, shining brightly in the night sky. I turned and looked at Andy, peaceful in his sleep. He's up there, I thought, thinking of the blindingly stunning star.
Then I scanned his face, peaceful and serene in sleep. He had the most tranquil smile I had seen on his face in three years, since the disappearance of his mother. And in the splendor of his sleep I thanked the creator of this scene silently. Thank you, Peter. I thought. Thank you for my childhood back, thank you for his innocence.
And as a tear crept in my eyes in the beauty of the moment, watching his chest rise and fall, his thoughts in pure heaven, the memory of only one command could fill my mind, as though it were calling to me from the majestic star in the dark night's sky.
Don't cry.
Okay sooo what did you all think? Review please! This was kind of based of off this talk I had with my little brother (not nearly as dramatic as this though) so I wanted to give credit to him even if he'll never read it lol.