Believe in Happy Endings

Chapter 2: Peter Pan

When Peter Pan returned to Neverland the day the Blitz was over, he felt a bit more grown and relieved to know that the people he considered his family was doing well. But something didn't feel right. The rest of the lost boys said so. Little colored stars started to pierce the sky violently, opening the barriers of Neverland to the world. The island started to crumble, the tides shifted and poured out of the world of Neverland. The stars of all colors you could imagine had created a hole in the portal to Earth. The world the lost boys grew up in started to fade away as the tide had taken all the people and creatures of Neverland to the streets of London. They were greeted by some final sparks of the firework show going on as they fell further and further down. It seemed to last forever. They all hit the ground of an alleyway causing a brief flood on the next few streets. But it didn't flood enough to reach Jane's attention.

Jane was at the window of the nursery with her family, gazing into the sky of fireworks slowly fading away. For a moment the world seemed brighter, like a world that welcomed the star of Neverland. But suddenly, the world seemed to dim as the last burst of fireworks boomed into the sky. How fast that moment was. How fast it was to realize that light will come in bursts in your life. Jane soaked that moment in, remembering how Peter Pan lit up her dim world like that and carried on in life. Sometimes she'd look back on her short-lived time with Peter Pan like the fireworks the week after he left. It was out of her control to know when she'd be with him again, and all she knew is that everything comes into place with faith and trust. Little did she know, just a couple miles away, there was a little remaining pixie dust in the world.

Peter wiped his face violently and flinched his head up to look for his home in the sky. He spotted the star to his right, and right before his eyes, he watched his home slowly die. All his warm memories have kissed Peter goodbye. He's come into a world where he needs to grow up. His childhood has finally dimmed out after decades of trying to hold onto the light. The light of simple joys and simple feelings which can't possibly be complicated as a child. But it was time to grow up. It's just that he didn't know how. Motherly figures like Wendy have come and gone and the lessons he's learned from them faded as his time with them didn't last.

Peter looked around to take in the chaotic scene. The Neverland locals soaking wet, the lost boys on the verge of tears, Mr. Smee sobbing uncontrollably as Captain Hook attacks the ground with his sword, the people on the streets simply staring at the Neverlanders in shock and confusion. Tinkerbell looked around and couldn't breathe. This was too much attention for her to handle. She couldn't do anything without being pitied or judged. She cried softly and flew away, as fast and far as she could. A safe place that could possibly restore her magic, and a place to find people who can help and understand. Peter was left alone to a crowded city and people he's known as a boy in danger of being taken to an asylum or a hospital for a long while. As the tide started to dissolve into the streets of London, the mermaids wailed and cried for help as loud as they could. He could hear the murmurs of the crowd, "What the fuck happened?" "Did you see that?"

Peter got overwhelmed and ran away from the scene and tried to study this strange city. There were lanterns hoisted up into the air by sticks that look like they could be in the Indian Camp. He felt intense feelings of anxiety. His heart jumped up and down his throat until his sight got hazy. The sudden fog of his senses blurred the crisp, clear night. His head started spinning and his ears ringed for help. Oxygen supply seemed to cut out for Peter as his eyes shed more tears than the fallen Neverland's tide. "JANE!", he cried out onto the streets, "JANE! JANE, WHERE ARE YOU?" A lost Peter was something that took the attention of all the pedestrians, smokers, and foodies outside. The people were scared, concerned, entertained, everyone there saw him and everyone there had something to talk about once they came home or got the chance to see their coworkers. He ran straight into the doors of a building that looked very much like the old Darling household.

The doors slammed open and into the wall making a loud thud that drew the attention of all the people inside the room. On Peter's right, he saw adults hovering over a long counter of food. Abundant amounts of food. Food like he's never seen before. The rest of the room was filled with people in old coats and hats, looking like they haven't been groomed in a while. There were children with messy hair running around and playing until the liveliness of the room came to a halt as Peter entered. The loud chatter of the people eating and playing quickly silenced so they could take a look at the boy who was panting at the door, scared to death. His skin was pale as a corpse -- as if his soul were sucked out of him. His cheeks had left traces of his overflowing tears. The warmth of the room's air tried to embrace and comfort Peter, but it couldn't stop his continuous shaking. Peter looked around and couldn't recognize anyone in the room. He didn't know any of these people. Back in Neverland, everyone knew everybody and they didn't have any surroundings like this city before. His eyebrows jumped up and furrowed together. "Have any of you seen Jane?", Peter asked, occasionally cut off with his hyperventilation. A lady from the counter rushed to Peter and asked, "Her name is Jane?" Peter nodded, "Yeah, Wendy's daughter."

A fat, old man quickly turned his entire body to face his wife and looked at her with shock, "When did we have a daughter, Wendy?" The lady covered her mouth with wide brown eyes that turned to what was supposedly her sons. They were all about Peter's age. The boys widened their eyes and held back laughter. "I don't have any Jane," she whispered, "But I'll talk about my daughter in a more private setting." Her husband turned, unable to look at her.

Attention snapped back to the young, confused boy. "That's not Wendy," Peter said, "There's only one Wendy. Like how there's only one Nibs. Everyone knows them." The people broke out into a low chatter. The lady shot him a sympathetic look, "There's a great number of 'Wendy's' in London. There's not only one Wendy -- many ladies have the name Wendy. But, I'm sorry to say I don't know anyone by the name 'Nibs'. Come with me." She waved at the people, signaling them to continue doing their previous business. She led Peter behind the counter where the rest of the adult servers were. They glanced at him after the attention he drew that night. The lady picks up a bowl and spoon for Peter and serves him food. He's never seen anything like it. It looked like reddish, dry clumps of dirt and pebbles were soaked in brown mystery liquid. He knew for sure it couldn't be water with its speed of drippiness. He stared at the bowl, perplexed.

"Chili," the lady introduced the food to Peter. He held the bowl like a giant mug and drank out of it, nearly choking. The lady hurried to get napkins and take the bowl away from the boy, trying to clean his shirt up, "You use it with the spoon, young man." He stared at her, confused. "What's that?", he asked. She sighed, irritated. She grabbed one from the side of the counter and put the dent of the utensil to her opened mouth and stopped once Peter gasped, "Oh!", and devoured his first bowl of chili out of about five that night.

The lady had explained to Peter that he was in a homeless shelter and advised him to stay there. She asked him questions on his family, his past, where he comes from, and all of that had to do with Neverland. For the next decade, Peter had worked and lived in that homeless shelter along with the adult volunteers that would come and go to serve the homeless. Peter wouldn't receive a complete education but was able to learn basic reading, writing, and math from a man named Mr. Hart that would always come by at the shelter. He seemed clean. He always had a camera, notepad, and messenger bag with him. He was a man with a powerful outlet of knowledge. He had a crazy amount of books he'd bring for Peter and other small children. Whenever Peter wasn't serving food, he'd be studying with the other little kids. As those years passed he'd never see the lost boys again. Peter once asked Mr. Hart where lost children go in London.

"An orphanage," Mr. Hart had replied.

"Is it nice there? Are there nice people there?"

"There's plenty of respected adults there. Why do you ask?"

"Back where I come from I had a group of friends, all boys who were younger than me, and we used to stick with each other everywhere we went. We called ourselves the lost boys because we didn't have any parents. And when we got here I ran here not knowing that they weren't with me. So I just wanna know if you know they're safe." Mr. Hart looked at Peter with pity.

"I'm sure they would be." And for the next decade, Peter hadn't seen a single trace of the lost boys again.