Peter Pan and Me

CHAPTER 23: LIGHTS GO OUT

It was unusually hot. Not that that in and of itself was unusual.
Neverland could get awfully hot. And cold. Sometimes in the same day. But
this was a signal. One that we all, all of us, especially Peter, not that
he'd ever admit it, missed. I was on the jungle floor and holding a dead
blue bird. In my hands. "Why should the heat last this long?"

Peter was there, "It happens sometimes." He shrugged. "I'll get my
spade."

Now Peter was sometimes too late to save falling babies out of their
prams. And he used a spade to bury them. There was some speculation by
Barrie, the one who I suspected visited Neverland himself at age 9, that
Peter sometimes buried them before he knew they were well and truly dead.
Not that Peter wanted to do that. He was just sometimes too quick with
spade. Peter was gone and back before I found a second and third bird.
The one in my hands I tried to raise from the dead or heal. I knew I
couldn't really raise the dead but I did heal Peter before. I got him on
his knees, a position I wanted for a long time. He put my hand on his
heart and one on the bird. It didn't budge. "Give him to me," Peter said
after I tried. Peter laid him in a hole he dug with his spade. As he put
the dirt back, he non chalantly said, "You know for human babies I put up
tombstones. I don't think I should for birds. I was a bird once you
know."

"So you think," I said as I found the other two birds. "I guess it was
the heat. I've never seen heat in Neverland kill them before though."

"Things change in Neverland. It's what makes it exciting."

"And deadly." I bent down on my knees again and concentrated, a dead
bird in each hand.

Peter was finished, "I was a bird, I think."

Truth be it known, Peter didn't know what he was. No one really did. He
was a boy. A boy who would not grow up. He was beautiful and loving...and
sometimes he could seem like a demon from hell. Maybe I'm being too harsh
on him but sometimes he was, well cold hearted. He was only just coming
round to feelings. Like love....but hate he knew. "Give them to me."

"No."

"No?"

"No, they are...." In my hands the wings stirred. "Alive." The birds
flew off my hands.

Peter came to me, "I'm glad." But he looked robbed of his work. He
looked at his spade. "It was you. You saved them." He came to me and put
a hand on my shoulder and then one on my other shoulder as he faced me,
"I'm glad."

"Me too," I smiled. Healing was not something Peter could do himself. Yet
I think it was his magic that allowed me to do that.

My mind went to what Barrie once said about Peter. "Of Peter himself you
must make what you will. Perhaps he was a little boy who died young, and
this is how the author conceived his subsequent adventures. Perhaps he
was a boy who was never born at all---a boy whom some people longed for,
but who never came. It may be that those people hear him at the window
more clearly than children do."

Which of course is nonsense. Maybe. Peter is not a fairy. He's not an
angel. And I for one, know he is not a demon. Or maybe he was all of
those things. Was. Past tense. I write as though he was to die or is
dead.

Later:

"Peter, I don't like this game!" I said. A golf ball was on my head.

"Hold still!" Peter swung a club and hit the ball off my head without
touching a hair. The ball spun and flew down. We were in mid air. The
ball landed on one of Peter's home made golf courses and landed in a
hole. "And you'll like it better!" He laughed, "Hole in one!" I was
desperate to get out of this game. He had all the Lost Boys hitting golf
balls off my head! I'm not really sure how they stayed up there, the golf
balls I mean, not the Lost Boys. They loved it and not one of them hit my
head. Peter taught them all how to hit...and took all the credit. "Okay!
That's it!" He encouraged all of them. It was at times like this that I
saw how loving he was toward them.

"Okay, I've had enough!" I took the last ball off my head and nearly got
my hand hit by a club swung by the love of my life. "Peter stop it!"

Peter laughed, "If you had just stayed still!"

"Look, I'm going to go off by myself for a bit, I need some time to
myself."

Peter's face fell.

"You do."

"Oh, that's different."

"I bet!"

"Okay, c'mon Aoi, Rico, Nibs..."

"Peter, Nibs isn't one of the Lost Boys anymore...." I corrected.

"Lost Boys are always Lost Boys at heart even if they decide to ewl,
eekkk, grow up!" Peter smiled at me and took my chin in his hands, "I
love you!"

"I know!" I smiled excitedly. "I'm going to see if I can go to Fantasia.
I have some friends there thanks to you."

"Atreyu and Bastian?"

"Well yeah but Bastian might not be there, he might be in the Real World
by now."

"Not too smart if he is."

"Peter! Some people find the Real World quite...fulfilling."

"I guess they do." Peter swung his club and I thought he meant to hit
me but he didn't. He flew backward as he swung, "C'mon boys, down at the
holes on course 9!" He was off and laughing they all followed him.

Sigh. I tried to find the portal to Fantasia, then remembered the only
way there was through a book. The Never Ending Story. We had a copy of it
someplace in the Upper House. But I began to forget where the Upper House
had been moved to. This was the house that was built for Wendy a long
time ago by the First Lost Boys or at least the Lost Boys I thought of
as First. "Where is that copy Peter fetched for me from that
bookstore?" Stole is more like it. While he almost never interacted
with adults in the Real World, other than villains that came here, Peter
always nipped to and fro between here and there and sometimes he went to
places in between, like Mars (I'm sure he was on the canyons there once
and I've been bugging him to take me to Mars for, like, forever) and
Venus and even the colder places like Pluto, but he's very vague about
them. He's also been to other Neverlands, there are more than one and
also places like Fantasia and Alice's Wonderland, Pern, even Dinotopia.
Peter doesn't stay put, not even in Neverland.

I flew to the House and found it in the trees again. The book was not
there. It was floating above the house and I tried to grab it but it
moved away as I went for it. "What the???" I dashed at it but it dashed
first. It was flying away from me at incredible speed. "C'mon here you!"
I yelled and flew at it. "What're you doing?" The book was in two
colors, green for fantasy and red for real world. Hmmm, why those colors?
They seem very akin to Peter himself. Green, well, he wore mostly that
color, when he wore clothes. And red for the Real World, which Peter
pretty much despised. As I flew for the book, I lost track of time and I
became very agitated. I lost the book and I lost my way. "Where am I?" I
was in a spot of Neverland even I had not been to before.

The brilliant sunny day was giving way to a dark night. I flew on. I
could not see the book. I could not see the moon but I was sure I spotted
it rise a while ago. The stars were blotted out. What was this? A cloud?
A dark sunset? I began to grow panicked. I could not see the ground below
and I wanted to land. What if there was an ocean under me? How would I
land and if I did, could I get any strength up again to fly off again?
Flying was fun and nothing compares to the wonderful feeling one gets
with all those butterfly feelings in your stomach and chest and the goose
bumps of knowing you are flying. It's thrilling and dangerous at the same
time, fun because it is dangerous and fun because it's so exhilarating.
And because HE can do it. Peter. Anything he did, I wanted to do. And I
wanted him to want anything I did to do. Or something like that. Anyway I
began to see...well, nothing. I thought I saw a cliff coming up at me and
smiled. I would land on it. But the wall came at me in blackness so I
flew up higher. Higher. And higher. I didn't want to smack into it. There
were tree tops brushing against my feet. I drew breath and tried to get
higher. I squinted. The fairy dust was wearing off. I would have to land
soon no matter what. I was tired and the fairy dust was almost used up
and there was not a fairy in sight. Which was strange. No strange lights,
no fairies. Nothing. No Oliveir the fairy boy. Soon I found myself flying
in a state of constant fear. Everything was dark. I didn't know if down
was up or up was down. I felt at any second something would come looming
out of the darkness as I flew and hit me. I didn't know if I was over
water or treetops. The underground house area could be right under me and
I wouldn't know it. I tried to steady my breathing. HE would come find
me. He was going to rescue me yet again. It was not to be. Not this time.

I gulped as time passed. I could not just stay put in one spot of the
air. It was lonely and it made me more tired. I flew. I flew and flew,
velvet darkness my only companion. I could not see. I know now how a
blind person feels. Flying in total darkness as though I were blind, I
realized with growing gulpness that Peter was not coming. Maybe he was
trying to herd the Lost Boys together. I hoped he was doing that (he was
I later found out), for they were in the air looking for me too. Peter
ordered them back to the Underground Home and he used the fairy Oliveiri
as their light. He kept looking for me though and the fairy wanted to
stay with him. Peter smacked the fairy and he took the lost boys back to
the Home. Problem was the fairies were losing their light too for some
reason. Peter was worried and if I had been near his face to see his
worried brow, that would worry me. Peter never worries. I'm told that the
Lost Boys saw this worried look at that moment but it turned to a
mischievous look and one I've seen often enough, a challenge rose, risen,
whatever; his look was now that of the challenged, the brow now firmly on
a downward slant, the outer edges up like some devil. Peter dove through
the air laughing, hoping I'd hear it. I didn't.

I flew and I was very afraid. I thought. "What would Peter do in this?
What would he feel? How would he handle it? Maybe he was even now. He's
probably saying things like...." I had been around him long enough to
pick up some of his fantastic imitation skills. Truth be known I was
always good at imitating people. I would crack up co workers at work
doing imitations of other teachers, administrators, and parents and
students. It was all in fun and in love, mostly, of course there was this
one administrator who was like the biggest bitch from hell...I had to
concentrate. If I couldn't have Peter in most fearful moment, I would try
to comfort myself using his voice, and more importantly his attitude. I
put on his voice, "Why what a marvelous new situation this is! My what an
adventure this will make!" Sure , I thought, ending in my death, like
Oliver died, the lost boy who had the same type of name as the fairy.
"Peter....where are ..." I got into his voice again and I sounded just
like him in tone, voice and all, "My! I've never had such a challenge as
this!" Which is why I've lived as long as I have.

I kept switching minds, from my own negative self doubt to Peter's self
confidence. "Well, come on, bring it on night! You wanna get dark, let's
get dark. No one's darker than me! I'm the demon boy!" I wonder what
made me say that. He never did and truth is he was, to me, as far from a
demon as could be. He was light and joy and he was always in good mood
and never doubtful, full of faith, he conferred with angels from God,
fairies from the dimensions, and goodly witches from Oz. Not the prison
Oz but the other world Oz, you know Dorothy, whom I've met and
almost....well, I liked Dorothy a great deal. "Gore and brimstone, I'm
up to this challenge, darkness!" I stuck my chest out, "Oh the
cleverness of me!" I was feeling rather Peter-like but I should have
felt rather dick-like, cause...

I tumbled and rolled. I covered my head to protect it. Lot of good that
would do. I hit a small tree top and banged my shoulder into it. I rolled
and rolled and hit a hill and was out.

Blackness. Unending blackness. Not much different than the sky tonight.

"He's a demon."

"A villain."

"He only says he loves you because he wants to fulfill his needs. He's
selfish."

"He will get you killed and move onto someone else."

"He's from the pit of hell."

"Leave him."

"Before he leaves you. He kills Lost Boys. He dumps girls and boys
alike."

"If a girl came along he would banish you."

I stirred. "Peter?" I called out, "Peter." I whispered, "Peter?
Peter. I want Peter."
I saw a face hovering over me. Flying? I focused but the being moved
away. It had hair like Peter's. "Peter it is you isn't it?" I was in a
bed with a blue blanket over my chest. I leaned up and looked around the
room. It was a cave of some kind. I could hear the ocean nearby. I think.
Echoes like you hear inside sea shells. I had to focus again. On the left
side were wooden book shelves. With many books on them, many old style,
paper eaten away type books. Hard covers. Off to the side looked like
fishing poles and some boxes. An entrance way with a brown curtain over
it. To the right was another book shelf and some tables and chairs
hastily made out of wood. And a sort of wooden makeshift cot/bed. And the
one I was in. It was not a comfortable place, certainly not as good as
the Underground House. It did have a sort of appeal though and a nice
fire was going off to one side. I tried to pick my head up but fell back.

"Easy," a male voice said, "Easy. You took quite a thumping on landing."
A figure moved over to me and I looked. Once more I thought it was
Peter. I've told you how he sometimes changed his hair color. He never
divulged to me, at least not yet, how he does it. But one minute he'd be
redhead and the next black hair. Jet black. Then brunette, brown,
mixtures. But for the most part, these days and for almost all of my time
with him he had that frosted blonde mop of unruly hair. And kept those
blue green pools he called eyes. Glassy and doe like. This one moved over
to me.

Now how can I describe this one? A deer? A doe? Certainly not a female
one. He had brown hair, long to his shoulders. Deep brown eyes, that one
could get lost in. He was taller than Peter, but only just. He was what
looked like Cuban I think or Mexican or both. Not sure. He had thin lips
and a pouty face but he smiled a lot. He was skinny and not very muscled
but he looked somewhat strong and dependable. He was a teen but I tried
to guess of what age, I found I could not. I would have said 17 or 16. He
had some armpit hair and some stubble. And some hair on his lower belly.
Like most people in Neverland he wore no shirt and only a brown leftover
from what looked like red/brown dress pants that shone black. He wore
brown moccasins made of leather. The cave exit looked like it had another
rock wall outside it as if this were a cave inside a cave or a pit. It
seemed warm and safe. He put on a sleeveless vest with purple stripes
and gray stripes to off set it. It looked like part of a fancy dress
suit.

Someone was reading. Jeremy Sumpter? Peter Pan? New strange man?

"Now Night her course began, and over Heav'n
Inducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd,
And silence on the odious dinn of Warr:
Under her Cloudie covert both retir'd,
Victor and Vanquisht: on the foughten field."

"Well I will not grow up! And you can't make me! Go home! Go home and
take your feelings and love with you!"

I thought I heard these things before. The first was already fading from
my memory. Fading. Memory. And me being a good rememberer. Is that a
word?

The voice sounded agitated as it continued to read. From a different
spot.

"Some natural tears they dropped but wiped them soon; the world was all
before them, where to choose their place of rest and Providence their
guide; they hand in hand with wandering steps and slow through Eden took
their solitary way."

"Peter? Is that your voice?" It sounded like him. Reading. Peter
reading? I was amazed.

Angry voice. "Beast now with beast made war and Fowl with Fowl, and fish
with fish, to graze the herb all leaving devour each other, nor stood
much in awe of man but fled man."

"The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell and a
hell of heaven."

"I will never leave you or forsake you."

"Peter."

"No, it's not. Not Peter. It's me. Are you alright?"
I passed out again. So weak. So tired. The sound of the waves beating
against the rocks. Soothing. Vanishing into my dreams. At least I knew
the water was still there. There was hope that not everything vanished
into the night, the darkness of night. Lost in dark. Falling. Falling,
falling. A pit.

"My name is Seth."

"Who are you?"

"I must have been here a few months. We were at sea. A pirate ship
attacked us. Young captain. Kickai was his name. I was the only survivor.
They put me to sea in a raft. Thought I would die. But I fooled them."

"Seth? Have you seen anyone else on this island?"

"No, no one else. Just beasts."

"No one else? Looking for me?"

"I guessed you were another survivor."

"I am. A survivor. But no boys were out?"

"It's a strange island." He smiled a large smile. Inviting and yet
somehow it seemed empty, the eyes vacant. I felt a chill. "It became all
dark."

"Are you Spanish?"

"I'm a lot of things. Alittle of a lot of things. What you might say as a
mixture."

"A bastard?"

"A...."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you...I mean to say...meant to say a
mixture..."

"He'll find me." I was talking in my sleep. "Peter will find me."

"Peter?"

"I love....hate him. The great Peter Pan. Well arm yourself. I'm about to
cut you to ribbons."

Was that my voice? Was this a dream turning nightmare?

"You are so damned cocky, just who the fuck do you think you are? You
don't care about anyone but yourself. I could die tonight, right now and
you'd just move on. On to the next chick that came along. Wendy. Maime.
Girls. That's what you want. Girls. A mother. Keep looking fly boy.
Nature boy. You will never find happiness. You are a tragedy. Hook was
right. Kickai was right. You're sad. You're lonely and you will always be
so. Take your knife and cut your own belly open. You deserve it. You are
not a god. You are not even a human being. You're nothing not even in
between human and god. Fairies pity you. Humans use you as a guide to
their passing the time. Of time going by. You mean nothing to them.
Nothing to me. Go and leave me alone. I'm putting you back in a drawer
like an old book cause that is all you are to me. An old book I'll soon
throw out and discard. Empty into the trash can and let be ripped to
shreds in a giant garbage truck. Sanitation. With you gone, I can finally
have things clean and right again. Leave me alone. You are not even a
real boy. You're hardly a boy at all."

Peter was there. He heard this all. He stood in the doorway of the cave,
the rock wall behind him. His face was happy at first, then he heard
this. His face registered hurt. He looked like he wanted to cry. He let a
few tears roll down his cheeks. His lip, those great pouty ones, quivered
as if he was going to say something. They moved but no words came out.
The bottom jaw moved but went back up. He swallowed. His voice stuck. No
one ever talked to him like this and he never stayed around for such
unbelief. "Such insolence," he gasped. " I quite like it," he got a
mischievous look in his eyes but then as I went on in my sleep talk, he
became overwhelmed and held his heart. He stumbled. And then he saw what
I was doing.

I was curled up in a bed on my left side. "The left side discarded into
the pit."

But behind me was Seth, curled up, spooning behind me. His long brown
hair draped over my shoulders. He had his arms around me, clasped hands
together in front of me. I was snoring. Seth was snoring or so we were
lead to believe. Seth's front touched my back. He was curled behind and
on me. His head was on my shoulder now. His eyes were shut tight, his
mouth had a giant smile on it. Peter saw this smile and knew it as
cockiness, for he saw it many times on his own face in his dreams. Or was
it on the enemy that always beat him up in his dreams, the mystery enemy,
the villain that was better than him. A better swordsman, a better boy,
a better flyer. Better, stronger, faster. Peter's face broke and he
cried. He crumpled to the floor and an old Persian rug. With a pentagram
on it.

"You are a demon. You are from the pit of hell. A pagan god, a false god,
nothing good. YOU ARE EVIL! Evilllllllll! I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU ANY
MORE! I DON'T THINK I EVER DID! YOU WERE THERE TO SCARE CHILDREN AND
PARENT'S ALIKE. YOU ARE A FALSE IMAGE!"

Peter cried loudly. I was surprised I hadn't been woken up. Seth did not
wake up. For he was not asleep. He curled up on the rug in pain and held
his own body, wrapping arms around his under arms, hands tightly around
his back, rocking. He moaned, in pain. We could not later determine how
long he was like this but it must have been a long time. "I could take
it!" He later told me. But he couldn't really. He stood up and on the
bookshelf behind him he recognized books. Having been taught enough to
read, thanks to Chase, he saw the letters formed words. Thus he saw that
they had titles with his name in them. Of course his name was the first
thing he insisted Chase teach him to read. He smiled at the fact that
these books were all about him but then the books all changed to say
DEMON PAN, or PETER DEMON BOY, PETER SLAYS THE LOST BOYS, PAN'S END OF
DAYS and the like. And he read enough to know that these books were about
him...but in a bad way. He grabbed the book shelf in a rage. His eyes
turned red, pupils and white all flew into a red color. He tumbled the
book shelf over and flew out the pit door. He was crying as he flew and
in the darkness he couldn't fly long in that state. Even Peter Pan could
fall. And he did. Right into all the Lost Boys, who disobeyed him and
were looking for both of us at this point. They broke his fall. With a
massive mess of legs and arms all tangled together, they landed.
Imagine their terror when they woke up and found him passed out among
them.

Landen: "What if he doesn't wake up?"

Aoi: "We've disobeyed him. I'm so afraid he IS going to wake up."

"He has to wake up," bright Sole said, "Shake him."

"No," Pare said, "You shake him!"

"Oh for Pete's sake!" Bailey said, "I'll shake him!"

In his unrest, Peter threw a fist up and it hit Bailey in the left eye.
"OW!" Bailey flew back and fell, "Me eye! Me eye!"

The boys laughed. Bailey's brothers were not laughing. Bo and Barry ran
to their brother.

"Meat on a black eye might help," laughed Aoi.

Barry asked, "Wanna piece of meat?"

"Yeah outta Peter's hide!" Bailey held his wounded eye. "What's with
him anyway?"

"Peter wake up!" Rico and Je'ne shook him.

"He's playing," Rollin said, confident he was correct. But he was not.

"He hates me." Peter said. He stood up and the only light that they
could all see was the light coming from the fairy boy Olivieer. Who never
spelled his name the same way more than once or twice or hundred times.
The boys were in a sea of darkness. They knew the forest was still there.
They knew the animals were around, thanks to the occasional chitter from
them but for the most part, the animals were hiding. Or had left. If they
could. "Chase hates me. His real feelings came out and..."

Landen scoffed, "Nonsense!"

"You are talking nonsense, Chase loves you!" Rollin said, "I should know
with my background. I know when men...uh, males love other males."

"He was with another!" Peter turned to them and yelled, making them all
cringe. And suck in air.

Jennie came to Peter and nodded his head no. Peter ran his hand through
the sensitive boy's hair, "It's true, I'm afraid, Jennie. Mother...I mean
your other father loves me no more. Oh dastard love!" Anyone else
saying that would have sounded silly. But Peter sounded sad and seriously
upset. His voice shook and he sighed like a women in labor.

Tugging on his leaves first, Jennie signed something. Peter looked at
him, "What? Whad he say?"

"Really Peter!" Landen scolded, "It's about time you learned sign
language!"

Smack. "I know sign language. I just forget it so easily. Wait a
sec...you forgot, I do know it. I just want to see if you remember it. "

"And please stop smacking me!"

"Okay Landen, I'm sorry, I won't...hey! Wait a minute! I'm PETER PAN! I
RULE YOU! I'm the king of the lost boys, of Neverland, the creator of
Neverland and other lands besides. I am linked to all that is good. To
all!" He yelled and stamped his foot. Jennie stood back and smiled. "Now
you, Landen, is that your name? Tell me what he said!" While Peter
said this, Landen smiled, acting as if he planned this revitalization of
Peter all along...

"He said that you said that you were afraid and..."

Peter finished, "Peter Pan is afraid of NOTHING!"

Well truth be told, he was a bit afraid on Marooner's Rock when he was
left there to drown, wounded or so he thought or so he pretended to be
(there are differing accounts as to what happened there) but he was a boy
after all, extraordinary boy but a boy who gave at least one shudder
there; and he was terribly afraid the time he went back for Wendy, the
third or more time that he flew to her window and found her in the dark
and before Wendy could be properly seen, he knew, even then that she was
not the Wendy he knew. She had grown up. He was scared and told her not
to turn up the lights. "Don't turn on the lights! Keep them off! Don't do
it! You have not ! You have not!" But she had grown up. And frantic she
ran from the room, to leave him to cry. Again.

But now Peter was resolved. "If you want Chase then you go get him!" Aoi
made a fist.

"Yeah!" The Lost boys all sounded out, even Bailey.

Peter turned, "Bailey, who did that to you? Was it while having some new
struggle in a great fight in a wonderful adventure?!!!"

"Peter, why YOU! !...." Angry, Bailey made a fist and then shook it but
realized from Peter's innocent looking face, that Peter truly didn't
recall hitting him, so he waved in a friendly gesture, "Oh, why you see,
yes, Peter. A great adversary punched me in the eye! He was a strong
opponent..."

"Well, I hope you gave as good as you got!"

"I haven't but I'm planning on soon giving the villain as good as he
gave me in me eye!"

"Great! Great news! Don't let anyone get away with hitting you in your
eye!" Peter smiled and shook him by the shoulders. Then he turned, "It's
time for another adventure. One where I will fight for what I want! If I
want Chase I will go get him!"

"And we shall all help!" Pare took out his sword.

"NO!" Peter yelled at him.

"Oh of course not," Pare put his sword away, "But why not?"

Peter smiled and put his hands on Pare's shoulders, facing him, "This is
something I have to do on my own, boys. Oliveier will lead you back to
the Underground...hey, wait a minute!? Didn't I tell you all to go there
in the first place?"

"Welllllll...."

Each boy, minus Jennie, for Peter never hit Jennie, got a smack. And a
laugh all his own. Peter's laugh hung around them for a time even after
he flew away. Each boy held their cheek as though the smack they got from
Peter was the best thing in the world. Even Landen, who was used to it.
Olivieier had to snap them out of their trance as they watched Peter take
off and with his own light shining and all. The fairy began to bring them
back to the Underground House.

With determination, Peter decided to return. He bit his lip, swallowed
his pride, as if he had a gullet big enough to do that (he didn't and
doesn't), and steeled himself. He took off fast and faster than ever. He
hit a tree but it was a skinny tree. It knocked him to the ground. He was
shocked. That never happened before. It was as if the tree purposely
moved into his way. Trees usually liked him. He got up, and without
brushing his dirty self off, he waved his elbows and as though plunging
into a run, plunged into a launch, again. His lips pressed together in
even more of a steeled determination. "Ha haa ahhh!" Peter, in the
darkness, felt his arms tingle and know a boulder was falling off a cliff
to hit him, he dodged it and it missed him, to fall below. He flew and
looked down but saw only blackness. He flew by instinct alone and dodged
many such obstacles. One was a flying flock of vampire bats, which he
smacked aside constantly, getting bloody from as they hit him. He was
sure none bit him. If they did, he'd be turned into a vampire Peter Pan
and he was sure that would have complicated things even more. His arms
had some scratches on them, a few were deep and he liked that. He liked
blood.

"What is this now?" Peter flew and found himself in the graying sky of
Neverland, the darkness misting into clouds that he once just jumped onto
and laid on like they were pillows. But these clouds were gray and black
and in their center a huge maw opened. A giant mouth with fangs. Another
and another. Peter found himself sucked toward one of them and he used
his foot to kick out a tooth on one and punch out the tooth on another
which closed in on him from behind. He kicked off a fang and then used
the other fang to push himself away from the killer clouds. "I rule
Neverland! I rule here and all here follow my rules of nature or
perish!" Peter punched through a gray cloud and it vanished. He laughed
and flew away from the things, avoiding a swarm of killer crows.

This time he made it to the beach and the hole in the ground where the
pit was. A cave within it. He cautiously entered and drew his sword from
out his back holster. It made a satisfying KLINGGING SLINKKKK sound.
Peter smiled. He liked blood and stabbing. And he'd surely stab this
being in bed with his Chase. "First to wake him, then to kill him."

Seth was up in front of him almost without effort, "I'm awake, Pan, the
evil demon god of Pan."

"You don't know anything about me," Peter sized up his enemy. "And
you...you have hair under your arms...ewl!"

Seth looked there, "Yes, I do."

Peter pointed his sword at Seth's belly button and down lower, "And under
your navel..."

"There tooo," Seth looked at him and his eyebrows pressed together,
making him look real evil.

"Such a tragic boy," Peter shook his head and tutted, "Such a tragic
man....which is it? Oh, I forgot you're neither and you're both. You have
the worst of both worlds."

"Maybe," Seth said, holding his hand out and his fishing pole came from
the side of the cave among other fishing poles and as it slid into his
hand, Peter looked questioning at it.

"What are you gonna do? Fish me to death?"

Seth looked at the end of the pole, "You forget, fishing poles have a
hook on the end."

"Hook?" Peter looked at it, puzzled.

It changed into a sword, not unlike his own and quickly Seth moved it at
Peter's sword, banging it aside from his own semi hairy belly, peach fuzz
you know, and moving Peter's sword at a disadvantage.

Peter had the sword of Seth at his breast, but he said, "Let the fight
begin," anyway.


The play Peter Pan and its characters are trademarks of and copyright
J.M. Barrie