The Caravan of Neverwind
Of all things that wander in and out of Neverland, be it merchants or lost spirits, the most irritating and probable to wander away from you is your memory. Only strong wills hold memories of life before Neverland, lest they surrender to the blissful ignorance of forgetting all worries and pains related to all that was but will never again be. Like Peter Pan; in all his cocky and conceited mirth, in all his years of being part of Neverland, The Boy Who Never Grew Up sincerely believed himself to be part of the island itself, and that before him, it could never have possibly existed.
And then, there are those who can't or won't forget. They are grown up enough to know that should they forget themselves, then the only thing making them certain that they really are anything is that they are living, breathing creatures whose only purpose in this ageless life is to battle the small herd of flying children who have mostly willingly succumbed to living solely in the moment.
Billy Jukes sighed, leaning against his elbows on the port wall of the Jolly Roger as he looked up at the moons. One moon was full and one was waning, and trillions of stars shining brightly. Like a road, Jukes thought distantly. That dense band of stars looks like a wide road to travel on... The eternally thirteen-year-old gypsy sighed again and closed his eyes. How he wished he could be more like Slightly with the Lost Boys. How he wished sometimes he could forget... Forget where he came from, from the traveling home he would never see again. How long had he been in Neverland? How did his family fare, if they still lived at all?
Jukes jumped only slightly when a soft pair of footsteps came up from behind and stopped beside him, a large callused hand moving down and placing itself on his shoulder gently.
"Tis not your hour of watch," Mullins' scratchy voice came softly. "What're ye doin' up, lad?" Since he'd boarded the Jolly Roger, Mullins was the closest thing Billy had to a friend and father. But how do you explain homesickness for a people who really have no home?
"Just... remembering," came Billy's quiet reply. "Sometimes I have to make myself remember all of me, lest I forget them here forever." Mullins said nothing, but gave a soft, paternal rub to the boy's left shoulder. "Mullins? You ever feel like sometimes the real world where we came from was just a dream, and that Neverland is all there is and all we really are?"
There was a long pause. Billy really wasn't expecting a response, but he had to get it off his chest. But as his eyes closed sadly, he wasn't expecting Mullins to say yes, or the manly yet sympathetic squeeze his shoulder had received.
Blowing low over the land and sea, a strange, sweet scented wind blew in from the north beneath the starlight road.
Of all things that wander in and out of Neverland, be it merchants or lost spirits, the most irritating and probable to wander away from you is your memory. Only strong wills hold memories of life before Neverland, lest they surrender to the blissful ignorance of forgetting all worries and pains related to all that was but will never again be. Like Peter Pan; in all his cocky and conceited mirth, in all his years of being part of Neverland, The Boy Who Never Grew Up sincerely believed himself to be part of the island itself, and that before him, it could never have possibly existed.
And then, there are those who can't or won't forget. They are grown up enough to know that should they forget themselves, then the only thing making them certain that they really are anything is that they are living, breathing creatures whose only purpose in this ageless life is to battle the small herd of flying children who have mostly willingly succumbed to living solely in the moment.
Billy Jukes sighed, leaning against his elbows on the port wall of the Jolly Roger as he looked up at the moons. One moon was full and one was waning, and trillions of stars shining brightly. Like a road, Jukes thought distantly. That dense band of stars looks like a wide road to travel on... The eternally thirteen-year-old gypsy sighed again and closed his eyes. How he wished he could be more like Slightly with the Lost Boys. How he wished sometimes he could forget... Forget where he came from, from the traveling home he would never see again. How long had he been in Neverland? How did his family fare, if they still lived at all?
Jukes jumped only slightly when a soft pair of footsteps came up from behind and stopped beside him, a large callused hand moving down and placing itself on his shoulder gently.
"Tis not your hour of watch," Mullins' scratchy voice came softly. "What're ye doin' up, lad?" Since he'd boarded the Jolly Roger, Mullins was the closest thing Billy had to a friend and father. But how do you explain homesickness for a people who really have no home?
"Just... remembering," came Billy's quiet reply. "Sometimes I have to make myself remember all of me, lest I forget them here forever." Mullins said nothing, but gave a soft, paternal rub to the boy's left shoulder. "Mullins? You ever feel like sometimes the real world where we came from was just a dream, and that Neverland is all there is and all we really are?"
There was a long pause. Billy really wasn't expecting a response, but he had to get it off his chest. But as his eyes closed sadly, he wasn't expecting Mullins to say yes, or the manly yet sympathetic squeeze his shoulder had received.
Blowing low over the land and sea, a strange, sweet scented wind blew in from the north beneath the starlight road.