Sorry this chapter took so long, easter and essays got in the way. But anyways, here it is. Dorryen, glad you enjoyed the last one, but who knows, Wendy might not have to stay. I'm determined to have a happy ending!
There were only a few angels left with Wendy in the phantom land that Neverland had become. They were mostly the smaller children, who didn't really understand what had become of them. They just wanted their mothers, and Wendy was the only available surrogate, so they clung to her, watching her every move as she slow attempted to build a house in the clearing.
It was growing dark in Neverland, the pallid sun slowly sinking under the great mountain in its centre. The temperature was dropping, dark clouds billowing in from all directions promising rain and thunder. Wendy knew that she wouldn't be able to survive a night of freezing rain, and so was desperately attempting to rebuild her Wendy house, longing for the warmth and safety that it had once brought. The angels watched on bemused at her increasingly frantic attempts to stack wood on wood in a rough approximation of a hovel.
Then the rain hit, a trickle at first that was accompanied with a slowly rising wind. Thunder rolled across the island and Wendy looked towards, the skies in desperation, and moment now the storm would hit and she'd be swept away in the deluge. She groaned and abandoned her attempts at making any sort of shelter. It was too late for that now, and anyways she didn't have the imagination or the ability to make an effective den. For a moment she thought about heading back below, into Johns hideaway but even as she thought about it a shudder of horror ran through her. She could not face that, she could not face the bodies that lay below.
She tried to fly but found she couldn't, the fairy dust having left with Peter's departure. She was stuck here then, left to die by the one she loved. She didn't blame him, of course not; he was on a far nobler mission which was more important than her own life. She was slowly resigning herself to death in the cold clearing, seeing it as something inevitable and unavoidable.
It was then that she felt the pang of horror run through her. She looked down a smiled softly at one of the angels who clutched at her leg. Oh well, it would be far quicker this way and at least she would die giving comfort too someone. For a moment she wondered how long they'd stay round her body, wishing for warmth that she could no longer give, though she quickly banished the image from her mind.
She fell to her knees as the horror began to black her mind in nothingness, slowly driving her numb with terror. She opened her eyes for what she presumed would be the last time, her tears blurring her vision. The angel was standing ahead of her, gesticulating towards the east. A look of bewilderment covered his soft face, glowing softly in the darkness. She could see the raindrops passing through his tender body, though he did not feel them.
Even in her dying state she could see that he wanted something, that he wanted to lead her somewhere. She nodded as he desperately pointed again and tried to work out what he wanted. What lay in that direction? The lagoon? She thought for a moment and then realised where they wanted to take her; the Indian camp.
She climbed to her feet, tired limbs hauling a weary body upwards. She was soaked to the skin, her white dress pressing against the curves of her body as she staggered towards the tree line. Her feet slipped on mud and she fell again, her body covered in the brown filth. She could have stopped there, given up and laid down to a quick death by drowning or a longer one by freezing but the sight of the ghosts waiting for her, beckoning her on, gave her the strength to force herself to her feet.
The journey around Neverland seemed to take hours of soaking hell, but finally she reached the ridge where the Indian camp lay and threw herself into the nearest tepee. She lay on its dry floor for a moment, resting from her journey and watched as the angels entered through the walls, staring at her as she lay there.
Slowly she began to feel the chill of the night enter her bones and she realised that to lie inactive would lead to her death. Slowly she stirred herself and forced her reluctant limbs to lie. She was tired and the lactic acid in her limbs resisted every move as she busied herself moving wood from one side of the tepee to the centre. Finally, when she had raised a high enough pile, she found two flints on the damp earth and struck them together to fire the wood. This done she sat back and fell into a deep sleep.
When she awoke the fire had long burned down and Neverland was covered in grey light once more. The angels sat on the dry earth floor, watching her every move as she raised herself. The front of her nightgown was sheeted with dried mud, causing it to rub against her skin. She removed it and went outside to wash it, dipping it into the lagoon and rubbing until most of the muck was finally removed, leaving the dress with a thin brown sheen. It was an unattractive look but for the moment she didn't mind.
She busied herself over the next few days, slowly building up her camp and preparing herself for life in Neverland. The island was still dull and lifeless, Wendy being the only life form that had survived the ghost's arrival except for the witches, but she was able to feed herself from the plants and by fishing in the sea.
She slowly began to get to know her disciples, her lost boys and girls who had chosen to stay in Neverland rather than fly off with Peter. There were seven in total, five boys and two girls, each of whom had the same ghostly voices and the same everlasting look of sadness. They were young, none of them over eight or nine and she suspected that was why they'd chosen to stay with her. They wanted a mother figure and she was the nearest available women. She could remember Peters obsession with mothers when they were younger, his yearning for that sense of control, though he would never had admitted it. These children, torn from their families bosom, had similar needs and where not yet prepared to leave.
They had each been killed, that was clear. She supposed it was the war, indiscriminate shells falling on quiet French villages or on Turkish hamlets. A world war, where no town or village was left unaffected by the call-ups and the killing. The most distressing one was her youngest, a small Indian lad who had been split from head to toe by ancient round shot, fired by one of the old 74's that the Germans had reactivated to attack east India. A scar ran from his neck to his crotch, showing exactly where the metal had torn his body away. The first time she'd looked upon it she'd almost been sick, tears running down her face in sympathy for the pain he must have gone through. Oddly it didn't seem to trouble him at all, he played in the weak sun like the others, seemingly without a care.
'Just like Peter did' she thought aloud and busied herself with her chores. Weeks had passed since Peter had departed and slowly she established a routine, in the morning she would fish for there food and in the afternoon go berry picking before the night and the inevitable storm set in. Neverland was still living, just about, with enough light and water to sustain its flora and wildlife though she had not yet seen any of the mermaids or the Indians.
The rest of the time she watched the children play and tried to develop them, giving them her warmth when she felt strong enough to endure the horror and attempting to teach them the very basics of civilisation; how to catch a fish, for example, or their letters. It was fruitless, of course, for they did not care for the simple tuition she provided and the occasional efforts to help her out ended in tears when a ghostly hand passed through the salmon they were attempting to tickle. Still, she felt that some progress was being made, that slowly she could see a golden glow returning to the children.
She began to get too know them better, holding small conversations and observing there traits. One, a boy, was quiet and timid so she named him Slightly, while another was slightly tubby so he was called Chubs. She acted with the quiet, kindly bullying of the upper-classes, giving them each typical public school nicknames and character traits, conforming each to stereotypes in her mind. She had never had much to do with children back in reality, and thus such ideas made it easier for her to cope.
Time meandered on, with each day blending into the last and slowly Wendy gave up hope on Peter returning. Neverland was still in life-support mode, each day following the last in a never ending sequence of sunrises, sun and thunder. Wendy had begun to crave furniture, using primitive stone tools to make the wigwam more homely. There was still no sign of Peter, though the children where now beginning to glow with such a luminescence that she had too insist they stayed outside during the night so she could sleep.
Finally a glow appeared in the sky, a golden comet that appeared to move closer with each coming day. She had struggled to spot it at first, waking early to peer at the skies and yet slowly its light grew until it even pieced the dark thunder clouds which gathered every night. She hoped, prayed, that it was Peter and that he had finally returned from his journey, noting that no more angels had arrived since he left, but a sense of trepidation also dripped her as she strained her eyes at the nights sky, knowing that the comet not only marked a new beginning, but also an end.
I struggled to write this one; not much really happens in it after all, but it was needed to keep the stories structure right. I hope you enjoyed it everyway and I still have one or two twists left, so hopefully you'll enjoy that.
Read and review,
Love,
brooklynRed
