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There is a family, see, right over in the front room of a large building. They sit straight and attentive, awaiting for their portrait to be taken. It would most likely be hung in the dining room and adults will fuss over the small children about how precious and darling they were.
Now, see the person who is taking the picture.
A tall man, over thirty and lightly tanned. His short boyish hair all in unkempt gold waves and his beautiful eyes, deep as the endless starry night.
That's our Peter Pan.
He's a professional artist and photographer. He makes quite a load of money, it certainly puts food on the table. But, Peter would give away all the money in the world for something else, something far more cherishable.
The family got up and Mr. Jillian looked at a photo nearby of a smiling young woman surrounded in yellow light, "Excellent, we'll send...hmm, who is this young lady?"
Peter snatched it away and shoved it into his bag, "My wife, Wendy. I carry this picture everywhere."
Mrs. Jillian preened herself in the her mirror nearby, "When will we be able to meet this Wendy? Does she work with you?"
Peter said unemotionally, "She's...been gone for quite some time."
She looked at him sadly, "Oh, you poor thing! I'm awfully sorry -" Mrs. Jillian snapped suddenly, turning away, "William, Julia, stop that this instant!" As she went to calm her children, Mr. Jillian scratched his full beard, "Yes, we're very sorry."
As Peter finished up packing the equipment, one of the doors knocked. He answered it and an older Fred asked, standing in the mist, "Ready to go?"
Peter nodded, "Yes," and walked out of the Jillian apartment.
As they walked out to the buggy, Fred frowned at Peter, "You look distraught. What happened in there?"
Peter looked away, "They asked about the photo."
Fred rolled his sea green eyes and whispered, "I told you not to take it with you. People will start thinking you're mad!"
"I can't help it," Peter muttered forlornly.
The red head closed the door to the carriage, "Want to walk in the park instead?"
Peter nodded silently and they strolled through the gates of Knocker Park, slowly passing through the fog like lost souls. Fred watched Peter's face grow somber and shoved his hands in his pockets, "Do you want to talk about it?" Peter sat on the grass and Fred plopped down beside him. Peter murmured, dewdrops on his pant legs, "I still can't believe she's gone, sometimes I see her in a crowd and I know she is there. The next moment, she's is gone. Fred, I dream of her, and I wonder if she is still alive..."
"I thought you got over it. Wendy's dead, she's been for..a long time. I know you don't like hearing this, and I don't either, but she's dead. She's not coming back."
Peter looked at him with blank eyes, "You're wrong. She is not dead."
Fred shook his head, touching his shoulder, "Pete. . ."
Peter got up and took off, even if Fred had followed him, he wouldn't have had a fair chance catching him. Peter ran and ran, all of his thoughts were on simply running away from everything and everyone.
It was a strange tragedy, they all said. Wendy had been kept in the hospital for several days after the birth of their daughter, and went missing one day. No one knew where she had gone, they filed her as a missing person. A week after, someone came in the police station, saying that they had found something in the nearby brook by Kensington Gardens. A scrap of blue cloth and a piece of a finger.
The same blue that Wendy wore the day she went gone astray.
DNA testing said that it was indeed her finger. Even after all the evidence, Peter didn't believe it. She was alive and he would find her, wherever she was. Peter stopped, greatly winded and saw that he was right near the front door of his home.
Peter carefully climbed the steps and unlocked the door, stepping to the homey-lit hallway. Shouts came from upstairs and a figure came tumbling down the stairs. It landed on the rug and groaned, "Ow!"
Peter's son, Cameron, looked up at his father with his mother's clever blue eyes and grinned, "Afternoon Father."
Even though the boy was fifteen, he sometimes acted like a crazed child. His little sister's attitude all drove them to do crazy things.
Jennifer Pan stood at the top of the stairs and shouted, " 'I will save you!' The fair Wendy said and turned to Tinkerbell, 'I shall soar down there and save Peter!' She strung up herself and flew to the rescue! "
Jennifer got on the handrail and glided down, screaming loudly in fear and thrill. Peter caught her as she tumbled off. Jennifer laughed sheepishly, "Hello Daddy, you're home...early."
He set the twelve-year-old down and his two children brushed themselves off. Cameron messed with his gold hair which was similiar to Peter's.
Jennifer was a mixture, she had the skin and lovely brown hair of her mother, as well as the story-telling abilities. But she had the enchanting eyes of her father and mischevious, adventurous, and charming personality of him as well. Peter had chosen her name, after his mother who had been tragically murdered. Cameron was a name Wendy had found in one of her old stories. When they were good, Cameron was known as 'Cam' and Jennifer was 'Jen.' Now, they haven't been very orderly.
Peter crossed his slender yet strong arms, "Cameron Jonathon and Jennifer Gwendolyn, what do you think you were doing?" They shrugged, trying to make sorry faces but Peter knew how to resist those pouts, "Cameron, why did you let your sister nearly get herself killed? You were in charge."
He argued indigently, "I would have caught her!"
Peter shushed him and looked at his daughter, "And you? Why did you misbehave? You know she is not well and trying to sleep." Jennifer gave a one shoulder shrug and gnashed her teeth in a smile, Peter warned, "And don't try to weasel yourself out of this. Just because you're the youngest doesn't mean you won't be punished too."
Cameron asked quietly, "Are you really gonna punish us?"
Peter blinked, "I don't know, I think on it. Go get dressed for dinner." He added in a harsh whisper, "And go silently!" They nodded in unison and went upstairs.
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