To die would be an awfully great adventure.
Peter closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, breath raspy and hot. He could feel the warm liquid that coursed down his side, thick and slippery, as he clamped a trembling hand onto the wound. Pain flared down his side, engulfing him in a world of fire and bleakness. It was an ambush, a cold, sneaky ambush that removed every one of the Lost Boys from the face of Neverland. It was the most brutal attack in the long history of Neverland. After it, blood was never shed again.
To die would be an awfully good blessing.
"Peter!" a voice cried. Peter cracked his eyes open and moaned as the pain throbbed insistently on his side. His face lost whatever colour it had held.
"Mother," he whispered monotonically.
"Oh, Peter," she sighed. Peter closed his eyes, concentrating on nothing but the pain. It was a boon rather than a bane now. Something that would take his mind away from the woman that locked him out of his own bedroom thus barring him entry to his own home. A woman that was supposed to love him irrevocably and of her own free will.
To die would be an awfully good feeling of release.
"I'm sorry, Peter," she murmured as she kneeled beside him, caressing his golden locks that were damp with sweat. Peter's eyelids flickered and he turned his head away. He did not want to hear her apologies. He did not even want to be near her.
"Go away," he rasped softly. "Let me go."
He attempted to drag himself away but failed as he fell back with a pain-filled cry. Tears filled his eyes, droplets of moisture that coursed down his once-rosy cheeks.
"Peter!" his mother cried.
"Just go!" he yelled with the last ounce of his fading energy. He fell back onto the moss.
"I can't go, Peter," she said gently. "I'm here for a reason. Come home with me, Peter."
Peter's eyes widened. Home? Where was this Home? He had not heard of a Home for a long time. Curiosity gripped him; the pain faded away. Home sounded good, where had he heard it before?
"Home?" Peter whispered.
"Yes," she replied. "I'll never let you go again."
Something solidified within him, a feeling of rage, discontent and distrust.
"No," he said.
To die would be an awfully long trip home.
"I don't have a home," he said. His strength was returning, the blood had stopped flowing. He was in a strange limbo of weightlessness and pulling gravity. "Not with you."
From the distance, he could hear his friends calling for him. He smiled. He rose into the air, turning gracefully around, eyes sparkling.
"I'm coming!" he crowed.
With that he darted off, leaving his mother standing cold in the forlorn plains of the depressed dead.
To die would be an awfully big adventure.