Chapter 2: Fading Memories

Now, at the exact moment Wendy was blowing out her candles, a young boy was returning from a long day of adventure. He flew into his cozy little house, which had been set upon the branches of the tallest tree in the jungle. Following him in was miniscule ball of light that glowed madly in the air and produced the faintest sound of bells.

If any grown-up had seen the boy as he was now, he or she most certainly would have let out a gasp of disapproval. His hands and bare feet were darkened with dirt, and his sun-kissed skin was flawed with cuts and scrapes. His rather charming face was smeared with red and blue paste, hinting at his attendance of a Piccaninny celebration. He was daintily covered in skeleton leaves, and his dirty-blond hair, highlighted here and there with golden streaks, was distastefully windswept. The cocky half-smile lying across his full lips undoubtedly would have sent Aunt Millicent into a frenzy, but it was precisely this smile that would have made any young girl's heart flutter—that, and a pair of deep blue eyes, which had an undying twinkle in it.

The boy stood proudly at the doorway with his hands firmly on his hips, scanning the one-room tree house. His brows furrowed a bit as he looked from the wood-planked walls, to the single square window, to the mossy floor. As silly as it might have seemed, and as many times as it had puzzled him, he could not remember how the little place had come to be. He certainly couldn't think of how he might have lifted it onto such high branches, lest he recall building it at all! But snap a finger, and know just how quickly the perplexing thought left his mind, for he'd grown much too accustomed to his forgetfulness.

"Another good day, hmm, Tink?" the boy asked the ball of light floating beside him.

A bell-like voice sounded in approval.

He offered the little fairy a satisfied grin before throwing himself onto a cot in the corner of the room. Tinkerbell took his cue and flew into a golden birdcage hanging above the bed. Lying stomach-down on a stack of leaves, she hung an ant-sized arm outside the cage, watching the boy's eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

Peter Pan lay contentedly in his bed, and all of Neverland slumbered peacefully with him that night.

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It was dawn in London, and Wendy was sitting up wide awake in bed. It was the day after her birthday, and only two weeks before school would start up again. She gazed about the dark room, where the first sun rays were beginning to shine through the barred window of the nursery. With a faint smile, she looked, one by one, upon her seven younger brothers sleeping soundly in their beds.

First, Nibs. He was, of course, one of Wendy's five adopted brothers, and the oldest of the Lost Boys. He was undoubtedly the brightest of all her other brothers, and was the last to accept Mrs. Darling's offer to be his mother. He had since cut his lengthy brown hair and cleaned up rather nicely, which many youthful girls in Bloomsbury seemed to have noticed. Nibs turned over in his bed, and Wendy moved on to her next brother.

Tootles was another of the Lost Boys, and was quite the opposite of Nibs. He was on the plump side, not the sharpest student in school, and the first to accept Mrs. Darling as his mother. He was a jovial boy and sociable among other children, and tried hard to please his parents, sometimes without success.

Then, there were the Twins. They were the youngest of the Lost Boys, and by far, the rowdiest. Together, they were more than a handful, and Mrs. Darling at times found it difficult to keep them in order. As typical twins, they often finished each other's sentences, which Wendy thought delightful. They loved to hear their sister's stories, and as such, it was one of the few times they were ever quiet.

Next was Curly. Of the Lost Boys, he found it the most difficult to assimilate with society. It took much bribing to let his wild, strawberry-blond hair be cut, and he initially despised the black slacks and collared shirts he was forced to wear. He had come a long way in just a year, however, and Mr. and Mrs. Darling knew he would get on quite well.

Wendy then moved her eyes upon the oldest of the brothers: John. He was one of Wendy's biological brothers, and she was beginning to think he was growing up much too quickly. He was only a year younger than his sister, yet he had already become the ringleader in suggesting to his brothers that Peter Pan might have only existed in their dreams. For the first few months, the boys continually denied such an idea. Nonetheless, it didn't take long before Wendy began to notice the hesitation in many of the boys' voices as they struggled to refute John's words.

Last was Wendy's other biological brother, Michael. He was the youngest of all the brothers, and for so long, the one Wendy admired the most. To her amazement, Michael seemed always to remember the smallest details of Neverland. He never ceased to correct his sister if she had misrepresented something in her stories of the island, and for so long, he was the one to encourage her of Peter's return. She knew he'd be the last to let go.

It would be Wendy's last day in the nursery. She watched her brothers breathing deeply in their sleep and slowly came to accept what was to come, as she felt, a real lady should.