an: Hey, guys! So this is my twisted little version of Peter Pan. Those of you who have read my other Peter Pan fanfic, Away We Go, are probably pretty confused at how different the stories are. But I still hope everyone gives this story a chance and likes it! Enjoy!

I wake up to jumbled thoughts and images, my vision blurring and then snapping into focus as I groan and sit up.

The first thing I register is the fact that I am lying on the ground. The soil is soft, almost spring-like, as I sit up and look around me.

There are trees everywhere, in every bizarre shade of green. The atmosphere seems smoky, and as I look up through the tops of the trees I can see the sky is just barely visible, a bleary gray color that has no sun, no clouds. A few planes whizz through the gray, firing their guns, then are gone.

I look down at my hands; my fingers covered in the soft dirt, and see that somehow a clump of my hair had been torn out. I know distantly that I should be crying, shaking, something. But all I can really think is that the blood on my face is starting to dry and it is warmer outside than I remember.

Shock, I mentally tell myself. You're in shock. My hair, lying in a pile large enough to where I know I should be frightened, swims in and out of focus as a haze comes over my head once more and I am almost unconscious again. I stare at all of the colors of blonde in the bundle, noticing in a certain light one of the strands seems to shine like silver. The wind blows through the trees, the leaves seemingly whispering untold secrets as I look up to the sky once more.

But then I realize that they actually are whispers, from people that are standing a ways away from me. They look as though they haven't even heard the term "bath" before, and they are all different shapes and sizes.

A small blonde girl walks out from the trees and I immediately size her up: small—very small, knobby knees, either very dirty or very tan skin, with tangled blonde hair and big bright eyes. She is wearing what I think was once a dress, now a dirty brown color that is ripped and torn and almost hangs off of her skeletal frame.

"We aren't supposed to be helping you," she says quietly. "But they've already all woken up. You're the last one. You need to make it to the checkpoint alive before the other girls."

I merely stare at this girl. Is she homeless? Does she live in these woods? As I look at all of the other children, I realize they are just as filthy. "Who are you?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

The girl looks so scared. She is so young; where is her mother? Her father? She wrings her hands and bites her lip. "We're the lost boys," she pronounces in a small voice. "You've been chosen to go to the House. But they can't take all of the chosen girls in. You have to make it before the others do."

And then I remember. It is an odd thing that I recall, but I cannot help but think of my mother lifting the rose that had found itself onto my pillow with shaky fingers. "You must lock the doors and windows," she said, voice grave. "You must never let anyone in."

The story my mother had told me growing up was a simple, no matter how scary. The story that I heard of Peter Pan was the real one, the one about the boy who never grew up—the boy who kidnapped small children and brought them to another realm, one he called Neverland, and deemed them his "lost boys". They would make weapons and machines for him; they built his first house, a large mansion where once every 100 years, there is to be a new Peter Pan and a new chosen Bride to rule Neverland for the next century.

There was originally Peter and his first Bride, Wendy. And they lived forever, happy in Neverland, with the few boys that ran away to Peter, the original Lost Boys. But Wendy and Peter both wanted a legacy in a way, a real child to carry on. Somehow, Peter managed to obtain the one thing for he and his Bride that would ensue the chaos for hundreds of years now.

Mortality.

And now, each new Peter will die after one hundred years on the throne to Neverland. They each choose a Bride and after every wedding, the Bride bears a child—never a girl—to become the next Peter.

The process was fine at first, great even, but then, one century, the new heir of Neverland grew tired of his wife. He had her killed and demanded another Bride, one that he could truly love. The Lost Boys went out and brought back six girls from the other realm and returned to the House with them. Now seeing a new game out of this, the heir demanded that the six fight for his attention and love. They did, and eventually only one girl was left, the new Bride.

The ground beneath my feet begins to rumble and I am thrown violently back into my reality. I snap my attention to the little blonde girl in front of me. "I've been chosen?" I just barely manage to choke out. "I'm a Bride?"

The little girl shakes her head and shoves something at me. I look down to see that she has thrown a new-looking navy bag into my lap. "This is for you. You have to get to the house before the fighter jets come over here and shoot you down. Go," she urges when I still do not make an attempt to move.

The next second I am up and running, not before grabbing the pile of my hair next to me on the ground. I delve deeper into the trees, not stopping until I am gasping for air and my legs begin to shake. I collapse by a large tree and cradle the ball of hair in my arms. I begin to sob. I can hear nothing but the sound of my hiccupping breath in this dense forest. I wonder idly if I'm having a very bad, very vivid dream. I decide to open the backpack the little girl had given me and rifle through it.

I furrow my brow as I pull out a canteen of water, a map, and an intricately scrawled invitation of some sort. I set the former two objects down and open up the card, my fingers leaving tracks of dirt where they touch the stark white parchment.

Welcome! it reads, We are honored to tell you that you have been selected to participate in the traditional Choosing Ceremony. We think that you would be an excellent candidate for a Bride and hope that you will continue to work with us in helping deliberate which one of you will be the next Bride. Good luck, and enjoy!

I am so scared that I drop the card and scoot away from it. So it's true. I am Chosen to compete against other kidnapped girls to become the next Bride. I am almost sick, but my horrid headache overpowers my nausea and all I want is to curl up somewhere and sleep until my head stops screaming in agony.

I see the shiny strand of hair in the pile once more and pick at it until I find it. I pull it out of the pile and realize that it is, in fact, a necklace. I examine it closely by holding it up to my face. It is a very pretty looking gemstone, a crimson color, maybe the size of the pad of my pinky finger. I quickly clasp it around my neck, not knowing if it will come in handy sometime in the future, and stand.

I know my only chance of survival in this world rests within the House. I begin to trek through the woods, too dizzy to really study the map that was in my bag. I stumble around the trees, still groggy from the drugs they must have injected into my system. I come across a river and begin to follow it; I know that the river, at least, leads somewhere.

After what seems like hours I hear the sounds of pursuit. I turn quickly and see there is a girl following me, none to secretively.

She is blonde, like me, with the same body type. She looks enough like me to where I shake my head to clear the fuzz. As she slowly nears me, though, I can see that where my eyes are blue, hers are a lovely brown. I can also see that she is terrified. She is probably just as lost and confused as I am.

I open my mouth to tell her that I mean her no harm-

And she lunges for me.

I am knocked backwards onto the earth. The breath is ripped painfully from my lungs and I am still for a moment, too stunned to move. But the girl is now clawing at me. Her nails find purchase along my cheek and I feel my flesh strip away, the blood welling from the wound. I snap out of my daze and shove her off of me.

We both spring to our feet as quick as we can and stand facing each other. I know we are both terrified, but I don't want to hurt her.

"I'm not here to hurt you," I say out loud. "I can help you."

The girl shakes her head. "There can only be one," she says quietly, so quietly that I have to lean forward to hear her.

But by the time I register her words it's already too late. I know what she means now: we look so much alike; no way they would allow two girls so similar to be entered into the House alive. But by the time it clicks, she has shoved me backwards and I hit the water of the river.

My heart freezes in my chest and I instinctually suck in for air, but get lungs full of river water instead.

I break the surface and cough out the water inside of me, only to have a fresh wave bring me under. The current is too strong for me to fight against. I kick back to the surface, all to no avail. I choke out a scream as I see the ledge, the waterfall that I am about to plummet down.

I am dead.

an: Thank you for giving this story a shot! I know it's nothing like your average Peter Pan story, but I still hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in a review, please!