The boys wanted to haul the body over the cliff. It took two or three of them at least just to carry it up the hill in the first place. His ridiculous garments catching at every thorned bush and branch. I had wanted to keep him on the beach, to watch the tide come up and wash him away, but the boys just loved throwing things over the cliff. They hauled with resolution, and their excitement climbed at the thought of this huge weight toppling over the edge of the ravine. We neared the top, and I crowed, signaling the little ones at the mountain top that the game was won, and the feast would begin. Shrill shrieks emerged from above and I knew they were waiting for me to emerge, hands red with success.
I scaled the crest of the mountain first, happily receiving a well-deserved welcome from my little lost boys who bounded from the tree house to meet the rest of the big ones. The tree house was the largest tree on the mountain top. The trunk was hollow, and the roots of the tree were so ingrained in the landscape of the cliff that they toppled over the edge, and even crept beneath and between the rocks, splitting them precariously. Excited little ones joyously tried to partake in carrying the weight of the body, each craving part in the tossing over the cliff. The big ones pushed them aside, eager to toss over as much weight as they could off the edge without having to share. Undeterred by their pushing, the littles persisted until Nibs got fed up and kicked the largest little, leaving the rest of his little gang hesitant to continue their game. The littles then funneled their excitement by starting a dance. They had seen the killing from the top, and now re-enacted the battle. They all began jeering at a boy and isolated him, using him as target for the enemy. It was almost strange how the littles chose their victim, as if they had a collective thought and knew the weakest among them without having to speak it out loud. A boy with a cleft lip was tossed and prodded among them with sticks. The bigs, too, began to shift with aggression. Slightly was kicked aside, being the littlest big, and the rest sped up towards the cliff before he could retake the weight he had worked hard to carry up the mountain. Nibs and Curly then eagerly took the hands and feet of the body and began to swing it, each swing growing in sway as the huge weight oscillated between them. The rest of the boys jumped and hooted as they watched, anticipating the throw. Then Nibs screamed,
"One, two, three!"
At his signal, the body was flung as far out from the rocks of the ravine as possible. The boys all rushed to the edge, some even almost knocking each other over at the excitement of seeing the body hit the ground below. The game was to get a clear shot, no rocks, just air, and a puff of dust as it hit the sandy soil below. There was already a little clearing made by the frequent tossing of the bodies, where most of them landed, and it was with happy rejoicing that they saw the huge body of Captain Hook flew farther than those before, and toppled into the thickets past the clearing. It was with great satisfaction as the body they had thrown the day before was a sore disappointment, and had become entangled in the vines of the cliff. Inciting no hunt. But today, there would be a hunt, for the body had landed clear of the rocks, and into the greenery. As if a dinner bell had been rung, little brown creatures rushed from dark corners of the greenery to inspect the body. I raised my weapon in signal.
"A hunt!" I screamed. All of the boys rushed to grab a sharp object; a knife, a blade, a spear, and all began to race down the mountain as fast as their feet could take them. It was always like this, the bodies attracted the pigs, they would become trapped in the ravine, and the boys would feast on them. The boys could not help but holler, and some pigs, wise to the warning, made to dash with whatever scrap of meat they could grab. It was of little consequence as there were so many pigs and the ravine was U shaped, trapping the panicked pigs against the cliff wall. As easily as the littles found the weakest among them, the boys collectively spotted the weakest pigs, and sought to kill them off. It was an inexplicable instinct. A knack of the wild. The killing began, and the scenery echoed with shouting and squealing. When all the pigs had scattered, the boys cried with success and counted their kill.
The largest pig of the hunt was strapped to the spears, and carried up the mountain. Curly screamed in glory as he had killed it. The rest of the killed pigs were excess and were left in little red pools on the soil. Nibs grabbed my arms and raised them in celebration, I in turn grabbed his arms and raised them above his head in comradery. He is my best friend, my second in command, and of all the boys, I crave his respect the most. Time does not pass on the island, everyday was if I never had lived a day before. There were no bad days, because if something did not go right, we would simply forget about it, or just pretend it never happened. In this way, our life was happy. We played our games, and had our adventures, and nothing could get in the way of our fun. This was our home, our Neverland. It was strange, then, that Nibs began to feel larger to me. In one of our recent scrambles, he had shouted out orders to the boys without me having told him to do so. This made me so angry that I had cut him on the cheek with my dagger. Now Nibs always asked, and we were friends again. But I could not help but feel bitter that he had raised my arms up without letting me approach him first. It made me feel weakened by him, and I wondered if I could spar him later to set him right. A fight on the horizon, and a feast fast approaching, I shouted into the ravine, relishing in its echo.
At reaching the tree house, the boys prepared to feast. A stack of wood was quickly being collected at the firepit, and the boys prepared the spit for the pig. They all sang a song that they had heard from the pirates as the bigs gutted the pig, and the littles danced and played. The song was complete nonsense as none of the boys had gotten close enough to a happily singing pirate to ask for the words. It was a jumble of guessed syllables and undulations. Pig gutted, firepit prepared, I raised my arms to silence them. As leader of the Lost Boys, it was my responsibility to light the fire. A pistol lighter hung from a throng on my neck, and I pulled it carefully over my head as if it was a sacred artifact. The boys awed as I flicked its flame, and sparks flew to the dry wood, eating slowly until it devoured the stack in fire.
No one noticed, or cared, that one of the boys had not returned yesterday. I had already forgotten until he came stumbling up the mountain that evening, drawn to the fire and feast. It was one of the twins. I hated him. I hated how foolish it made me feel to see one, and then another just like him somewhere else. I wished that he had stayed gone. The twin seemed uneasy, as if the Lost Boys would not accept him back, but his brother recognized him, and the memory of him was still fresh enough to be remembered. The littles began to play with him, offering to be pigs while he could chase and hunt them down. The twin did not want to play, and the littles pushed at him in displeasure, pretending to stick him with spears.
The mood darkened. It was not often that a Lost Boy did not want to play, but when they didn't, it never meant good news. The twin looked to the others, unsure, and began to draw in breaths and catching eyes, as if looking to speak to them collectively. I pointed at him, and at seeing my gesture, the boys quieted and turned their attention to him. Being given the floor, the twin spoke.
"I know… I know this will sound strange." He began. We had seen this before. It was an illness, a curse that befell Lost Boys from time to time. The twin looked to his brother, and his brother looked at him sorrowfully, knowing his sibling had stepped into a grave.
"There really is shallow water…." He said. The littles began to growl. "No, please listen for once! The other boy was right, we can walk across the water! We can get off this island! We can go home!" He began frantically, looking to his brother for acknowledgement. The brother looked to the rocks, as if he could not hear him. I spoke, trying to break him from his delusion.
"This is our home, you've been talking to the mermaids. You're trying to drown us all." I tried to reason with him. The twin shook his head.
"Peter… please, the water…" The littles barked like dogs in anticipation. The game was on, and some even preemptively squeezed their little hands around their weapons. The twin, sensing failure looked to lock eyes with his brother, who still ignored him. "I want to go home, William. I'm not going without you!" Said the twin. His brother looked at him. This was it. The signal to kill. If a Lost Boy no longer wanted to play, it was over. He ceased to be a Lost Boy.
"Then go home." I said as I drew my dagger. The rest of the gang mirrored me and they encircled the twin. The twin did not move. He knew there was no escape. His only escape was reasoning with them. The twin drew breath to speak, but I had heard enough. I gouged my dagger into his face, and at the signal of my first strike, the others joined excitedly. They all pricked and stabbed and relished in striking the target. The brother did not partake, and I sensed another sacrifice coming. It would not be long that he no longer wanted to play either. Quickly, before the boys could truly examine the fallen Lost Boy, the body was tossed over the edge, not even caring to aim for the clearing. They already had their pig, and no boy wanted to run down the hill again without eating.
The smell of the roasting pig now became prominent, and the sacrifice became just a memory to be soon forgotten as the boys began to argue over their ration of the pig.
The moon rose, and the sun set as the boys played and ate and finally, slept.
I did not sleep. Something perturbed me, and kept me from dreams. The moon was full, and the island was bright with it. I stood, abandoning my gang, down to the waters.