I'm trying something new with this story here. For one, it's about Peter Pan, and that's definitely different than my usual stories. I just saw Return to Neverland and have kind of been obsessed with Peter Pan since.

Well, I hope you like the story!

Peter turned his back, and Hook saw his chance. He shot the gun. The world seemed to go in slow motion, it was almost as if I could see that bullet flying through the air. Peter heard the shot and was turning around. But it was too late. He couldn't fly away fast enough. I was running, even though I knew I could never make it there in time. Not in time to push him out of the way.

Then time seemed to stop completely. I looked at Peter, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was open, about to scream-

Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose you have no idea what's going on here. Well, allow me to explain. We're in Neverland, and Peter and Hook are-

You know what? Why don't I just go back to the beginning. Back to when it all started.

Chapter 1

I was bored. So very, very bored.

But, then again, what can you expect when you're in a ninety-three year old's house? It's not their fault. They're old. At least, to a sixteen year old, they're old. I bet all those ninety-four year olds are going, "Why, when I was ninety-three, I could do this and that and that."

But I'm just sixteen, so what do I know?

To pass the time, I was knitting. That's right, knitting. No offense to all the sixteen year old knitters out there, but for me, that's just sad.

I am definitely not a person who can quietly sit still for hours on end and knit. No, I have always been more of the type to go blow up a building or something.

Not that I've ever blown up a building. I'm just saying, I'm more likely to do that than knit.

Ok, I'm sort of getting off track. Because I was so bored, I decided to stop knitting and talk to my great-grandmother. Even though she is old, and her house is rather boring, she is actually quite an interesting person.

She likes to tell stories, and not the "When I was a girl…" or "Once upon a time…" kind of stories. All of her stories start off somewhat like this, "There was a boy named Peter Pan…"

I found her in my room (I was in the living room before), where she often is, sitting on the windowsill and staring up into the stars.

It's nighttime, by the way. I just happen to have insomnia, so I can never go to sleep. I think she must have insomnia too, because she's usually up at this time (11:30 P.M.), staring out the window as if she's looking for something.

I've never asked her though. It's kind of silly, considering I've been living here for a little under a year now.

My parents died a year ago, and I didn't have very many relatives. My dad didn't get along with his family, so they didn't want to have anything to do with me. My mom didn't have any siblings, and her parents had died years before. Her mom, Jane, had one sibling, Danny, but he was in a retirement home and had some sort of disease.

So the only person left was my great-grandmother, Wendy, whose husband also died awhile ago. She was old, but she was at least sane, so the judge had me live in England with her.

I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me or anything. Really, I'm just stating the facts.

Wendy still lives in the same house as she did in her childhood. I've been told that she was kind of headstrong, so when she got married her husband moved into her house (I think it was different back then, people moved into their parent's houses or something). She also kept her maiden name, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, so that's become sort of a tradition with the women in our family: they keep their maiden name.

My old room in Wendy's house was the nursery back when she was a kid. It's a pretty big room, but since there's just Wendy and me in the house, there is no other use for the space. The window that Wendy always sits on is pretty awesome too. There is no screen covering it, so when you open it, you can feel the breeze or spit on the people passing under you, whatever floats your boat. The windowsill is pretty big too; there's enough space for pillows and blankets, so you could sleep there if you wanted to.

(I know that you're probably all, "Why is she going on about the window? It's a window, get over it." But trust me, that window is a pretty crucial part of the story.)

Wendy noticed me and smiled, "Emma. Why don't you sit over here by me?"

She went back to looking at the sky. I sat next to her and looked where she was. The stars were pretty and all, but I got the feeling she wasn't just looking at them because they were pretty.

I decided, finally, to ask her, "Why do you look at the stars so intently? Are you searching for something?"

My great-grandmother was silent for a moment, then, still looking at the sky, said, "More like waiting for somebody."

I was confused, "Waiting for somebody? What do you mean? Who are you waiting for?"

She shifted her position so that she was sitting on her knees, "You remember the stories I told you about Peter Pan, right?"

I couldn't see where she was going with this, "Yeah…"

She continued, her voice a bit hesitant, "Well, that's who I'm waiting for."

I still had no idea what she was talking about, "I don't understand."

She looked me straight in the eyes, "Peter Pan. I'm waiting for Peter Pan."

I didn't mean for it to be a cliffhanger or anything, I just thought it would kind of be a good ending there. Besides, my mom is yelling at me to get off because it's kind of late, and I'm thinking that I should actually listen to her this time. Even though it's already about thirty minutes after she told me to go to bed, but whatever.

I hoped you liked it! If you did (and maybe even if you didn't) then please review. I don't mind constructive criticism, but I'd rather you not rant on how bad it was or anything.

So, until next time! (And I know I've already said this, but I really want you to review, so please do!)

(Woah! That rhymed! Ok, I'll stop now.)