Neverland is believed to be this special place, where every lost child could escape the world's turmoil and find adventure beyond his wildest dreams. Well, it was once. Now the land is nothing more than a hollow forest, still lush with plants and animals of every kind, but without spirit.
Ever since the Darlings left, I haven't found much reason to get up in the morning. Oh, there's Tink and the Indians, and of course Tiger Lily. But with the old codfish dead, the pirates long gone and no lost boys, life on the second star to the right is rather restless.
Ironic, the great Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, is restless and brooding over his existence. God, what will the kids think! Then again, what do they already think? That Peter Pan is just a silly boy who doesn't know a blasted thing about the "real" world? That words such as "precocious" and "dreadful" are foreign to him? That despite his years his speech consists of vocabulary no more advanced than that of a seven-year-old?
I wonder if that's how Wendy thought of me all those years ago. I probably looked like some kind of miniature savage to her, brandishing my knife in front of her face. That pale face and . . . those eyes. The bluest pools I had ever seen. She must have assumed my age to be on the verge of adolescence. After all, I didn't look much older than she did at the time. Perhaps it wasn't so wise after all to give her the impression that I was completely ignorant. Maybe that mix-up with the kiss and thimble was a bit too far-fetched, though I did enjoy the look of on her face.
I certainly didn't want to intimidate her. God knows how children feel when they talk to adults, let alone a child their own age speaking with the same sophistication. They'd probably be frightened. But honestly, did Wendy have to tell the whole world about me? It isn't bad enough that I am forever trapped in a child's body— well, maybe not exactly a "child's" body anymore thanks to one too many visits away— but that I must be forever branded as an idiot as well? It is often at times like these that I find myself glad the old woman is dead. Morbid as that sounds. Wendy was a pert little thing with an enchanting wild nature, but sometimes she could be such an irritating nag.
I sighed, the hammock firm against my back, and twirled the dagger in my hand. Can't believe I actually miss her. Ha! Can't believe I actually miss Hook! Sure he was a jackass, but he was the perfect remedy for boredom. Bells? I hear . . . Tink?
"Tink? Tinkerbell, what are you—?" As always, a musical carillon chime is her reply. "What do you mean there's a new lost boy? There hasn't been one in Neverland for decades. I— " Her ringing becomes more urgent, a slur of bells. "Little? How young, Tink? Four? That's barely older than a toddler. How could—Well, yes, I know babies have landed here before, but—Yes, I know that but—What do mean he's crying?"
Her glowing self has become so bright an orange that I can barely see her flailing arms, or her small body. And that damn tinkling has gone beyond irritating.
"Of course, I'm not just going to leave him there! Honestly Tink, you couldn't think me that heartless. I—" She spat a low tinkle, and I shot up out of the hammock. "How did you know that?" I glared down at her as she sprinted toward my face and shook her finger in a disapproving manner. Nosy little thing. "What I do with Tiger Lily is none of your concern, Tinkerbell." Her delicate finger poked my chest in defiance. If I weren't so vexed at her discovery, I'd say she almost looked cute when she was angry, almost.
"It was just a kiss, nothing m—" Another interruption of bells. "All right, fine, there was . . . that," I admitted. "But you can't really think a little slap and tickle means that much to her. Hell, she's betrothed to that scrawny Indian boy." The aborigine was barely half her size. Don't know what the chief was thinking, setting his daughter with that man."
Tink's voice became somber, her fiery glow slowly dimmed to its usual warm yellow. "She loves me?" I frowned at her tiny bowed head. She looked so fragile and defeated with her pale hair pulled back from her weary face into a simple knot, her shoulders slack and drooping, and her strip of cloth that barely hid her little feminine form sloping haphazardly to one side. Despite my own annoyance, I could never stay upset at Tinkerbell, especially when she looked so . . . so vulnerable.
I sighed, and gently tilted her chip up to meet green eyes that mirrored my own. "Come on, don't look so sad sweetheart." A pinprick of a tear slid down her cheek. "Now, now. None of that." She swatted her tear away as thought it were a fly. Ah, my ever brave Tink. Never even allowed herself a few moments of tears, not even in front of me. It nearly twisted my gut to see her place this strong shield over herself. I spoke softly, "Tink, you know there is only one girl for me . . ." A questioning chime. "No, of course not Wendy." She blushed and shyly averted her gaze from mine, a slight smile tickling her lips.
"Come on Tink," I said, smiling down at her. '"Let's take a look at that boy."