Peter Pan: A Novel

the continuation of Peter Pan, in which Peter is haunted by visions of growing up and falling in love

The End of Peter Pan continued… November 3, 2007

Filed under: chapter one,peter pan — snarkytea @ 6:52 am
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{ 1,798 words – I’m updating total word count in the widgets)

 

            Of course, it was not the last time Peter visited Wendy or Moira, for in fact Peter Pan seemed to have remembered the joy of being around women or was too curious to keep himself away from the Darling house. But every time, he came in secret, and he felt entirely different than before. Instead of random whims which brought him soaring to see Wendy, he was now pulled by a desire to see Moira grow up, to watch her legs and hair grow long, to see the change on her face when she no longer remembered what fairies were.

            There were nights, endless amounts of them, where Peter hung by the open window and watched Wendy read Moira her bedtime stories. At times, Mr. Statson, or Joseph as Wendy called him for he was her husband, would join in and with a smile that looked ever so much like Peter’s, he even sang to them or fought with the boys like a pirate or helped them build a fort out of pillows and blankets. In fact, Peter noticed with much disdain that Joseph was very much a boy at heart during these evening playtimes. Though he did also notice with a sneer that Joseph was a man of business, and when the children were asleep, he talked to Wendy of work. Of business. Of real things Peter couldn’t understand. He spoke of sending Moira to a public school, and whatever that was, it appalled Wendy very much and she fought with him over it, saying things like “We can afford to send her to a private school!” and “Of all the things I never wanted for my child…”, none of which Peter truly understood.

            Then there were nights when Peter snuck in well after Wendy and Joseph had gone to bed, nights when Peter appraised Moira with a kind of knowing rage.

            She was beautiful, and he thought this to himself often. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remember that Wendy had been beautiful too, and he must have given her a kiss to keep, though he wasn’t positive such an event had ever really taken place.

            The Lost Boys had told him they read stories or overheard the Pirates talking about love and girls. The Pirates said women (and mothers especially) could only belong to one man and that love was a once in a lifetime chance, and when you fell in love with a woman it was because she was the most beautiful thing in the world to you and only you. Peter had asked for elaboration on the subject, and one of the smallest boys told him it meant that when you kissed the girl you were meant for, she would kiss you in return.

            Though Peter couldn’t quite understand it all, he knew that looking at Moira made him recall Wendy, and that Moira was as beautiful as Wendy had been when she was still perfect and young and living in Neverland as his wife and the mother of the Lost Boys.

            One night, he tempted faith and kissed Moira quietly in the dark. The small acorn he placed in her hand looked awkward there, and a merely instant after the nut had touched her palm, Peter had snatched it back from her, proud of himself for trying but angry that he’d nearly lost his one and only kiss to a girl it wasn’t meant for. But the next night, Peter once again found himself pressing the acorn into her palm. And the next. Until finally one evening, well after the boys and Wendy and Joseph had gone to bed, Moira’s fingers wouldn’t let go.

            Aghast, Peter slapped her hand and as she screeched, he gasped and pressed his palm over her mouth.

            “You’ll wake Wendy!” he said, and as Moira opened her eyes, she thought to herself that those should have been her words. “Give me back my kiss this instant!”

            “Your indignant attitude won’t make me give it back,” Moira whispered heatedly, cheeks flushed as she gripped the small acorn tightly, hiding it from the boy who hovered over her bed. “Besides, if you keep placing it my hand and expect me not to want it, you must be very foolish, boy.”

            Ruffled, Peter folded his arms haughtily and sat down in front of Moira on her bed. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll wait.”

            “Right there on my bed?” Moira giggled. “You’re awfully impolite.”

            “Am not.”

            “Are too. Why were you calling this a kiss? Don’t you know what a kiss is?”

            “Of course I do!”

            “Well then, why don’t you give me one?”

            Peter snorted with laughter and rolled back on the bed, holding his stomach. “You’re holding it right in your hand and you don’t even know what a kiss is! You must have never been in love! That’s why I couldn’t give the kiss to you after all. That’s why you mustn’t keep it.”

            This made Moira laugh harder. “You’re Peter Pan, aren’t you? My mother says I shouldn’t leave the window open for you, but I knew you’d come back.”

            “I’ve not come back at all,” Peter argued, laying on his back and staring up at her nursery ceiling, counting the ancient ducks on the wallpaper that jogged a memory of a different time.

            “Haven’t you?” Moira asked impatiently, leaning over him and smiling down at his handsome but elfish face. “Do you know that my mother tells stories of you and your adventures?”

            “Am I the hero?” Peter asked, gazing up at Moira with bright eyes, imaging his glory in the face of danger, of rescuing the Lost Boys and making peace pacts with the Indians. “Of course I’m the hero. I bet they’re lovely stories – can you remember any of them?”

            “I’m not as good of a storyteller, I’m afraid,” Moira said, looking downcast.

            “Of course you are! Tell me a story, girl.”

            Moira’s brow furrowed but she tried not to be offended. “I have a name, you know.”

            “Shall I use it?”

            “I would like that very much, Peter.”

            “I suppose you should tell it to me first then.”

            Staring down at Peter, her soft, short curls bouncing tenderly in the slight breeze that rustled through the open window, Moira felt overcome with sadness for Peter, who could not remember that he had learned her name several weeks ago. Perhaps it was easy to forget things, having such grand adventures and all, but it suddenly occurred to Moira that Peter might not remember anything at all of this event in several hours time, that her name, face, and words could be so easily erased from his thoughts as swiftly as the daylight overlapped the night.

            “My name is Moira,” she whispered and reached out, pressing her fingertips to his cheek. “Do you think I could give you a real kiss?”

            “You’re wet,” Peter said, cringing away from the look on Moira’s face and the tenderness of the moment shared between them. Shaking himself from it, he settled on the window’s ledge, staring out at the night. It was possible that he forgot Moira then as well, that her name would continue to escape him. After all, there had been many times he had forgotten Wendy and even some of the Lost Boys. It was simply that Peter only had time to remember the present moment. The past and future were foreign thoughts to him and had little place in his heart. They were unimportant because there was no urgency to them, whereas with the present moment, insistency was all there was to it.

            “I shall close the window then, if you’ll be leaving,” Moira said solemnly, standing beside Peter though below him at the base of the bay window he knew so well. “Since you shan’t be returning after all.”

            “Yes, I should think it a splendid idea,” Peter said, and flew away without a word, very hurt but a great deal full of pride and selfish.

 

            In Neverland, there were an unlimited number of possibilities to attend to. Firstly, Peter had to tend to the Lost Boys and count them all to make sure none of them had been eaten by wolves or captured by Pirates. There were often scares and hunts for a Lost Boy who never existed in the first place, since Peter far too often miscounted their ranks in his head and said there should have been one more than was present.

            Besides the daily head count, there were also precautions to be undertaken to assure there wouldn’t be any captures by said Pirates or even by Indians, for as often as there were peaceful times, mostly the Indians fed for themselves and didn’t wish to confide in or partner with the Lost Boys. Peter, of course, could easily wriggle into their ranks and win them over in seconds, though that was thanks mostly to Tiger Lily, whose love for Peter went beyond mere adoration. In fact, she someday hoped for marriage, though she knew very little of what it meant other than living with a man and raising children with him.

            Peter was also required to assist the fairies in their celebrations, which were as often as whims, though Peter didn’t notice their frequency but helped them happily clear the brush or decorate the inside of a tree or make up new dances.

            And at times, Peter was also needed to cook, clean, or do other manual chores meant for a wife but left to him, as he was their father.

            But mostly, Neverland was a land of adventure, and Peter’s favorite daily activity was getting into trouble and getting right back out of it. He often lounged with the mermaids, who vied for his attention and tried to kill each other to prove their love for him, and swam in their waters, while at other times he snuck aboard the Pirate ships and tormented the crew with crows and dark whispers into their ears. And at other times, he would hunt with the Lost Boys, finding imaginary beasts to kill and skin, and when they returned home, they often held celebrations for their outings which could last the entire night and nearly every time gave their location away to nearby Pirate or Indian spies who meant to do them harm. Of course the next day, the whole celebration was quite forgotten in the heat of a battle.

            On one fine evening in Neverland, Peter found himself alone on the edge of a large cliff that overlooked the Pirates. Unaware of his careful watch, several Pirates were talking amongst their shipmates, while others guarded the perimeter and even more played games at the helm. The ship had not moved or altered course in years, though Peter hadn’t noticed.

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One Response to “The End of Peter Pan continued…”

  1. Adriann Says:

    Peter was also required to assist the fairies in their celebrations, which were as often as whims

    This was REALLY strong and stuck out to me — a lovely way to illustrate that and very… Victorian 😉

    I’m a little confused by what happend with him and Moira, how he just left (and left his kiss as well?) but I guess that’s the flighty nature of Peter Pan, and a testament to his memory? (of lack thereof 😉


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