Neverland

Ch. 9

"To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure"

Apprehension was the only word to describe the trifling emotions that were fervently coursing through James Matthew Barrie's already racked and distressed brain.

He was always in this state before the opening of a play, and tonight was no exception. Sure his play was a huge success the other three times it was performed, but he supposed its always better to think the worst of a scenario so as not to be disappointed or distraught if the unthinkable just happened to occur. After all, different night, different crowd.

And, much to his disappointment, and taste buds, the medicine that was prescribed to cure his malady, seemed to be either sufficiently inadequate for curing his type of illness, or his body was simply rejecting the stuff. His coughing was more frequent and longer in length, and even sometimes he found himself almost incapable of getting out of his bed in the morning, as if his body was dissenting. He hoped that it would go away soon. And it was even worse that the whole house seemed overwrought and meticulous over it. It was just a cold, nothing more.

Five minutes to go to opening of the curtains.

He stood in his usual spot, taping his ivory cane against the crimson velvet carpeting, after previously seeing the children had been settled into their seats alongside their grandmother. His suit was crisp and starched, but not too much. Just right. Julie always knew the right amount to put in for that kind of stuff.

Three minutes.

The orchestra's euphony, that had been playing the opening overture, started into its final combination of pieces. The melody calmed him somehow, from all of his previous scrambling. Looking for ties, socks, tickets, seats, production designs, props. It was endless. Well not quite.

It would end when the night was over, and he was back in his bed with his euphonious dreams.

A minute to go.

The doors were already shut and the conductor began moving his arms emphatically to command that the orchestra begin to play the last stanzas of the composed musical. The conductor was a genius. At least James believed so. And whatever he believed was considered gold.

James had envisioned that music always played in Neverland. He told the conductor of such visions, and the composer created what James wanted. He said that first you would walk through a open field and then a fairy would take your hand and make your run along with her so that you would be racing toward some unknown longing. Some... unknown fantasy, that you've been searching for your entire life, and now that you realize that only waiting a few minutes more, you could have it, you feel your heart beat faster, and your anxiety grow.

From the enjoyer's point of view, one would notice that their face would resemble that of a young child. Their eyes wide in disbelief, their mouth slightly open, but not wide enough to cause distraction to themselves. The sheer fact that they can barely keep still, or comprehend what their neighbor is blabbering on about. Genius. And when the music finally swells and then you hear that appreciative gasp of surprise, then you know you've hit home. And for that night, people sit in those chairs, remove the masks of fellowship and etiquette that they were tirelessly wearing, they can finally enjoy themselves without the interference of stares and rumors. For there are no lights. And with no lights, no one can see the right way , of the best path, of the noble path to take. Which is the way it is in a child's mind. When they stumble upon an idea or thought, the light turns on, but when they do something retaining those ideas and thoughts, the light turns off, and they are unaffected by the consequences involved, what shall happen later, and who will care.

The music swelled and finished its musical lineage in its measure, and then the signal was given to dim the lights , in both adults and stage, and the curtain to rise.

And so it began, James Matthew Barrie's brilliant play that depicted the escapades of the boy who never grew up.

A HALF AN HOUR LATER

"We are on the rock Wendy, but it is growing smaller. Soon the water will be over it."

James stood, clearing his throat to relieve it of its temporary and to prevent the spasms that threatened to wrack his body.

He needed water.

An usher.

"You lad." he said in a whisper, but since their was complete silence, apart from the fact that there was acting going on , and the usher hurried over.

"Yes sir." he answered, just as quietly.

"Would it be trouble to ask for a wee glass of water?"

"Of course Mr. Barrie. Right away."

"Thanks very much." he said, bowing his head in reply.

The usher hurried up the stairs, and James' eye riveted back to the play.

"What is it?"

"Michael's kite. It lifted Michael off the ground, why should it not carry you?"

"Both of us!"

James began coughing, slightly at first, but then it became even more contagious and he began to cough more violently. But then, unlike the other times, he was unable to stop. It was as if his body was saying, "No, not done yet."

"Mr. Barrie?"

But he didn't hear the obedient usher nor register the fact that he held a glass of water in his hand, which was outstretched toward him. His mind could not comprehend, his lungs constricting so tightly that he gasped wildly for air. His head swam, and he felt as if he was in fact swimming. Racing to break surface.

Each time, just a little closer, a little easier. Until...

"Good-bye Wendy."

The water engulfed him, and he drifted slowly into unconsciousness.

But the play must go on. And so it did, as Peter Pan stood alone in the middle of the stage and bellowed fearlessly as the threatening waves evoked to engulf him as well.

"To die, would be an awfully big adventure."

A/N Please don't flame me. I know some of you are gonna hate me, but this is how I think the story should go. So rather than not subject myself to more writers block, lets all be nice, put down the pitchforks and read and review savvy? There are only four more chapters left, I'm thinking. So enjoy while you can.

Thanks to:

Meredith A. Jones: I really have a huge smile on my face when I see your reviews. They are extremely long and pleasurable to read. Thanks for you compliments, and for a thirteen year old , you are a very talented writer. I'm fifteen by the way.And I'm glad you can find mistakesso I don't become too egotistical, lol. Thank you again, and please update soon.

Dawnie-7: I'm sorry your upset honey. But I didn't kill him last chapter.

Jack Sparrow's Secret Lurrver: Yes honey, I did in fact write that intro. I'm glad you liked it.

Sliver-Eyes 97: I don't know about writing a novel, but becoming a writer sounds like a good idea. Thanks for the compliment.

Haylie Jack: I'm glad you didn't think it was the total crap that it was. And as for your question, I can't tell you that. Sorry.

H.M. Chandler: I'm glad you've overcome writer's block. I hope you enjoy this new chapie.