Author's Note: To anyone who doesn't know, all the characters mentioned that are in the original book, belong to J. M. Barrie, who thought of the best, best, best book that was ever created! I'm modeling Peter and the other characters after Universal Studios' 2003 movie "Peter Pan". Well, I hope you like it, and please, please, please review!
CHAPTER ONE: FACE THE TRUTHTime has no effect on emotions. With every word remembered, one can almost taste that certain time of his or her memory. To Wendy Darling, all she could hear were the sounds of Peter's voice whispering into her ear, echoing throughout her soul, never being able to drift out of her. After her departure with the cocky boy that Friday evening, all the girl could do was stay at her nursery window, eyes glued to the sky. She wouldn't eat, nor sleep. She wouldn't say a word of her own, only repeating Peter's words she had heard once before. Many nights, John, Michael, Nibbs, Tootles, Curly, and the twins would come to the her, tap on her shoulder, or give her a comforting hug. All the poor thing could do was start crying like there was no tomorrow. Tears shed for a love once lost. Maybe, for a love that was still there.
As the days passed, Mr. and Mrs. Darling became worried. Their poor little girl was turning a mere dream into a sick obsession. People were starting to talk, especially the others at work. Oh, the chain of gossiping wives!
"Have you heard of George Darling's daughter?" One fellow worker at the bank, Mr. Rowells, murmured to the man beside him.
"Yes, the one who's going insane?" The overweight one huffed, grooming his white mustache with his hand. "I won't be surprized, knowing George. Soon enough, he'll have a seamstress for a daughter."
Mr. Darling pretended not to hear, just press his glasses harder into his face and continue with his work. The problem was, it was quite troublesome not to hear things. Especially if it was dealing with someone you loved.
It wasn't his wife's fault that talk of his daughter's illness was spreading around London. He was sure that she only talked to her friends at teatime with a worried heart. Heavens knows what the other women could have said to their husbands.
One night, just after supper, Mr. Darling was sitting at the head of the table. He was wondering about all the comotion dealing with Wendy, how to help her, mostly in vain. Yes, the man cared for the health of Miss Darling, but he had other worries about the whole outcome of the family's social life. Would England shun him as a horrible father? Think of all the possibilities.
"George, dear? Is something wrong?" The kind, calm vocals of Mrs. Darling asked from across the long, oak table.
All at once, the eight other boys at the table snapped their heads to their father. They, too, had heard the ugly gossip about their older sister. Knowing what he was thinking about, the boys halted eating, waiting for Mr. Darling to speak.
Mr. Darling, who was busy trying to cut his corned beef, rushed his eyes off the meat once she spoke. So surprized, he flung his fork into the air with a jump, watching it fall to the ground.
"Me? Oh, no Mary." He stumbled over his words. A doubtful look crossed over Mrs. Darling's face, as she nodded with disbelief. Mr. Darling switched from side to side with himself, wondering if he should speak or not speak. To talk, or not to talk. That was the question. "Actually, yes."
Once again, all the Darling children's faces were upon him, waiting for a word to pop out of his mouth. Mrs. Darling noticed Curly's fork halfway to his mouth, stopped by the youth's hand. He was too busy concentrating for his new father's response.
"Now, Curly. Fork down, dear." The woman laughed, taking the fork out of Curly's grasp. Curly didn't move a muscle. Not even his eyes twitched.
"Wendy, is becoming quite ill." George Darling started, taking off his glasses and wiping them off with his handkercheif. "If we do not act quickly, I'm afraid our only daughter is in more, risk. That is why, I plan to take her to a phsychology doctor first thing in the morning."
Truthfully, only Mrs. Darling knew what a phsychology doctor was. A doctor of sorts, who controls the brain's emotions, and deals with 'crazy' people, or other sorts. A gasp came out of her mouth, as a soft, refined hand went up to cover it.
"George!" She panted. "Our Wendy?"
"It's for the best, Mary!" He yelled, fist angrily pounding on the white clothed table. The china shook and clinked, as Michael swore he saw a vain getting ready to burst in Mr. Darling's forehead. "All I want is the best!"
With that, Mr. Darling stormed out of the red dining room, down the hallway, and slammed the door to his study. Mrs. Darling sat at her chair, speechless. Her daughter wasn't truly insane, was she? She wouldn't have to go to a clinic, right?
"Mother?" Michael asked, tapping his knife on his plate absent-mindedly.
"Yes?" She sighed, taking her plate and setting her napkin ontop of it. It was hard to eat, now that she knew her family was falling apart.
"What's happening?"
Mrs. Darling looked with sorrow and pity at her youngest son, as she set the plate down and walked over to the seven-year-old. Kneeling down, making her shorter than he was, she smiled reassuringly.
"What's happening with what, precious?" She whispered, patting his shoulder.
Michael looked at his brothers, his green eyes shining with unshed tears. He seemed to be hesitant, more hesitant than the others.
"To our life?"
A single tear dropped down Mary Darling's elegant face, smearing the little amount of make-up she had on.
"Peter Pan happened."