Ever since I turned five I had been told stories about a boy who never wanted to grow up. A boy who wanted to stay young forever. These stories never came from my own mother though, no, she wasn't a fan of fairy tales. Instead they came Wendy Charles, my friend Danny's mother. All of her stories were fantastic and riveting, keeping you on the edge of your seat.
When I met Danny he always talked about the stories his mom told him, eventually I began to feel a bit sad that my mother never told me stories like that. Finally, one day I asked to visit him at home, and when I arrived I immediately asked his mother about this Peter Pan that Danny had told me so much about.
From what she had told me, I knew that Peter Pan was a young boy who could fly. He lived in a tree with six other little boys, whom he dubbed the Lost Boys. Peter Pan was constantly teasing and fighting with Captain Hook, who apparently wanted Peter gone because of what he had done with his hand.
Ever since those days my dream was to meet Peter Pan. It was my dream to go to Neverland and go on a treasure hunt with him, the Lost Boys, and Tinkerbell. But I knew that Neverland was just a dream. But still, every night I would sit at my window, watching the second star to the right, wishing that Peter Pan would suddenly come flying through the sky and come and bring me to Neverland, even if just for a little while.
A/N: Super short chapter, but I figured I might as well do an epilogue, because for those of you who have read my other stories, I tend to start in the middle of scenarios more than from a specific beginning point. So I thought I'd try it out.
P.S. I apologize for any spelling errors throughout this story. I'm writing this on my iPad since my computer is so slow I can barely get my writing program open, and sadly iPad's do not do well with spell check.