A/N: sorry if this doesn't make much sense, but please review anyway and tell me why! Sorry it took a while, I didn't realise I had so much to work on. One of my friends mentioned that I had really bad grammer in it. I know that, lets just say that I'm not a real wiz at that. I got my report back a couple of days ago and it said that I didn't vary enough, so in the next couple of chapters my writing may change a little, not in this one though, it had too much that I had to change already!

Em

'Hey,' he says, 'how are you feeling?' I don't answer him straight away, because I have no idea how I actually feel. I know that I'm confused, and that I'm exhausted, but I don't know how I am. I sit up in bed, supported by the pillows.

'I don't know,' I tell him truthfully. He looks a little disappointed so I add: 'I feel confused, exhausted and a mix of other things.' He doesn't say anything, he just looks at me… he looks at me seriously.

'Cam, please don't look at me like that.' He rubs a hand off his face, as though he is trying to get rid of his expression.

'Like what?' he asks.

'Like you're trying to figure me out, like you have no clue what to do about me, like I'm a child who never takes anything seriously,' I say with a sigh.

He comes over to the bed and sits beside me. He wraps his arms around my body, and hugs me tight. I hug back, and lay my head on his shoulder.

'How long was I out this time?' I whisper into his ear.

'Only a couple of hours,' he whispers back. We stay there for a couple of minutes and then he slides down on the bed so that he's lying on his back. I follow suit, but lie on my side instead facing him.

'What's it like?' he asks, looking to the ceiling, 'when you pass out?' I don't say anything for a while because I'm trying to work out the words to describe to him.

'There's an intense pain in the back of my head, and a blinding white light,' I pause, and he senses that I'm not finished. 'And there's a sound, it's a shrill piercing note, right in my ear.'

'What happens after that,' he says still looking at the ceiling. 'Do you just black out, and then all you can remember is waking up?'

'No, after a while the light disappears, and so does the sound. It's replaced by this really strange dream, and gradually the pain lessens.' I can feel his body tense up as I answer.

'What happens in the dream?'

'It's not a reoccurring dream, although each time they're in the same place with the same people.' I try to think back, I know that Wendy was in the dream, but there was someone else that I can't remember. 'I'm in a world that's absolutely beautiful. There's mermaids and Indians and little boys running around the place. But I'm not me, I'm Wendy. And there's a boy. I can't remember his name. He had ruffled hair, and he could fly,' I suddenly realise what I'm saying, 'But it's just I crazy dream.'

I look at Cam's face, it looks strained, like he wants to tell me something but can't.

'Why?' I ask, curious. He turns on his side and looks at me. Not how I'm normally looked at, but really closely, studying my eyes and the rest of my face. I feel awkward and naked as he studies me. I feel like I should be looking better, so I glance away from his eyes, and he realises that I'm uncomfortable. He gets off the bed and walks to the door.

'Dad has heaps of other patients, but he says that all you need is sleep, so you can stay here for as long as you want, but if you want to go that's alright to.'

I smile and he leaves. I flop back onto my bed. I've realised recently that everybody has different smiles. Some people have smiles that creep out, that are their real smiles. Others have huge smiles that they use a lot, and some have embarrassed smiles, that they don't show any teeth with.

I let memories over take me and let them capture me and take me on a journey. I really enjoy it, until it takes a horrible turn, and links all me bad memories together. I wake up finding myself with tears streaming down my face. I wipe them away sharply, burning my cheeks, and making my eyes hurt even more. I hadn't realised I was asleep. But then again, I hardly notice anything anymore.

A scream of frustration escapes my lips but I clamp them shut again and cover my mouth with my hands for extra protection. I'm just sick of grieving. I want to run, I want to feel, I want to think, and I want to be able to love again without getting hurt. I don't want to cry anymore, it makes me feel so weak, like I need help. I've got to get used to not being with someone who understands me all the time, and I have to be strong for mum. Wendy was always the strong one for her, and now it has passed down to me.

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I look at myself in the mirror and let the day pass by me. I study my features, holding my arms out. I was thin before, but since I haven't had a proper meal in days, I'm really thin. I can see my bones sticking out, it may be my imagination, but I don't think it is. But my weight loss isn't the reason I stopped and looked at myself. It was my eyes. They flick from side to side, getting a glance at each. They don't have their fire anymore. They look hollow as though they have now seen it all. I grab my chalk from my desk and slowly make out my fast scrawl into words, and before I know it, my hand is writing my favourite quotes. There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged, to find ways in which you yourself have altered. Sometimes the best person to talk to is one that cannot judge and cannot give answers. Life isn't fair, it's just fairer than death, that's all. Time tells the truth. Secrets are open, yet closed. Time is going by. I continue writing, my hand going faster and faster, until I know that I'm the only one who can make out the scribble that my handwriting has become. The letters and words come closer together, and finally I reach the end of the mirror. But as I look at the mirror again, I'm disappointed. Through all the writing, I can still see myself, even clearer than before. My skin surrounding my eyes is deep with dark rings, and my eyes are still puffy and red.

The sun sets and I walk outside to my hammock. Its freezing out here, but I want to feel the pain. So I can finally feel and not be guilty about wanting to be touched. I watch it, the golden yellow, the colour of the bright, sticky honey, slowly fall beneath the horizon, and I feel a little better that, everyone else in the world, gets to see the sun, and gets to share its warmth.

Pink light softy touches everywhere the sun covers, and I feel warm, as though it's shining its beautiful peachy-pink colour everywhere, to look pretty, to impress me. It succeeds, and the last drop of light finally disappears. I look down at the book in my hands, scared, but thrilled at the same time. I open it slowly and gasp as I see Wendy's neat scrawl on a loose piece of paper.

If anyone could read this book, I'd want it to be my granddaughter, Em. Because she unlike most people at any age, understands me the most like the people that I wrote about in this journal. My daughter knows of it, but when she is asked she refuses to read it, because she knows what it is to me.

Thankyou all for a great and loving life, and for letting me imagine beautiful adventures, that I wish would have happened.

And thankyou all for being so special to me.

Wendy Darling.

I read through the letter again, and then again. Making sure that I understand. I sigh and turn the piece of paper around. I see something written upside down, in a smaller scrawl, not as neat. There is a map next to it, and as I study it further, I realise that it's a map of the Darling house, my house.

Enter the hallway, and cut into the stairs, walk up past mothers' room, and then opposite open the door and enter the nursery, my special room.

I walk quickly to the hall and quickly follow the instructions. I pass mum's room, and to my surprise I see a door. It gives me such a shock that I jump with a start and hit the table next to me. I sit for a couple of minutes, wondering why I've never noticed it before, and if it will be barred or not.

Mum isn't home, so I jump at the chance to go in, letting my curiosity take over. I slowly turn the door knob and find myself in… Cam's nursery. What the hell? I think. The yellow walls and the beds are the same, as well as the stain-glass window that I'm immediately drawn to. But there's something else here that isn't in Cams' nursery. This isn't Cam's nursery, I realise, it's the original. Cam told me that his nursery was a duplicate of another. This must be the other.

I look around the room with a different perspective. I can see what's missing in the other nursery. You can tell that this one has been loved, and lived in. The hats are strung effortlessly over bed frames and shelves, and books are piled on the floor and on the beds. I sit on the one that must have been Wendy's. It's the only one in the room that has pink on the bedspread. It has a view straight to the window, and as I look out of it, I can see people's attics and what they are doing in their rooms.

I slowly get of the bed, and delicately trace my fingers over the beds and the walls. I closely take in everything about the room and absorb it. I sit down on the pane of the window, and watch as the night goes on, everywhere but here. A breeze blows and I feel a slight tickle as the hairs on my arms rise. The wind reminds me of a people I read. It was about a dancer, who was really the wind.

We can never see her, but feel her

With her graceful limbs,

She dances.

She picks up speed,

Teasing ripples into the water,

And tickling the trees leaves,

She annoys the people

On Saturday morning

Reading their papers,

But as she turns,

Spinning faster and faster,

She goes straight through a window.

Slam!

The window locks her in.

She falls,

But picks herself up gracefully,

And stands still for once,

Waiting for a chance to be free.

I glance over at the bed were I used to be sitting. I walk over and pick up Wendy's book, turning it slowly in my hands. The rough, yet soft cover of the book melts into my hands. The breeze tugs at my hair, and I return to the pane. I sit and get comfortable. I open the book to the first page and read.

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I close the book and breath deeply. Peter Pan, the name rolls on my tongue. I wonder if Cam has any clue about the adventures that his Grandfather had. I want to know more. Wendy's book only gives me the bare essentials. I don't know what my curiosity is going to turn into, but I have a feeling that it may be big. I feel as though Wendy has painted her memories for me, all I need now is Peter's side.

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A/N: okay, thanks to all my reviewers (you know who you are!) I am officially up to 25, AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! He he he, thanks heaps. By the way Auriela you confuse me! And next time you have something to say about a chapter, please come to me and explain your review, they make sense - occasionally! I'll be back soon to you others!