Neverland Skies

Prologue

𝓝𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭. 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 star, sun, and moon stayed in its place in the atmosphere. The clouds never moved; every day, without fail, they remained suspended in position. The colors of the sky were the only things that varied from day to day, or rather, day to night. Faithfully, hues of bright blue faded to a dark navy on the hour midnight struck. But the lights in the sky never disappeared---no matter the time of day.

A young boy stared at the canopy above him. Unease nipped at his nerves. He sat up, brushing back his curly hair as he did so, and rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms. He grumbled, sleepily, and rubbed at his pudgy stomach. Why was he suddenly awake? Was he hungry? Was he sick? The little boy did not know.

Feeling restless, he got out of his bed. The familiar feeling of the roughly carved floorboards scraped at the soles of his feet. He still had thin scars on his small hands from the splinters he got when he and his brother had made them. He did not think that he was hungry, but that did not stop him from wanting to eat. He shimmied down the tree trunk and landed on the ground with a muffled thump. In the treehouse above, he heard one of the other boys stir. He held his breath, worried that he'd woken up someone. Sure enough, a small boy with a mop of blond hair poked his head out of the window. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and softly called out the other boy's name.

"Is it morning yet?" The boy in fox-pelt asked.

"No," the small boy on the ground whispered back. "Go back to sleep, Slightly. I'm just hungry a little."

"Okay," Slightly mumbled sleepily as his head disappeared back through the window.

Once he was sure his friend was sound asleep in the treehouse again the small boy continued on his journey. Just a few minutes later he arrived at his favorite spot. He scaled the length of the pliant tree, bracing his feet on the sides of the trunk, and swung onto the branch with ease. His chubby fingers delved into the leaves. Smiling softly, the boy brought his hand back, clutching onto the old handmade pan flute and a small leather pouch filled with purple berries. He sat there, munching on the fruit in silence. The light given off from the night sky cast a blue-green glow on his surroundings. A shudder ran across his small shoulders. He wiped his juice-stained mouth with the back of his hand and frowned in confusion.

He rubbed his bloated belly with a soft groan. He was filled to the brim with berries, and yet something didn't feel right in his stomach. There was still some unnerving sensation pulling at the back of his naval. That---combined with the goosebumps on his arms and the back of his neck---made his heart pound frantically. 

He took a nervous gulp of air and looked around the forest floor beneath him. The long blue-green grass rippled in the harsh breeze---resembling the waves of a turbulent sea rather than a simple turf. The surrounding plants and flowers trembled in the weather. The boy listed his head to the side. Had the weather in Neverland ever been like this, before? He frowned and bit his plump lip. No, he decided---the sky tonight is very weird. He couldn't even remember the last time the wind had blown half as much as this.

 The tree leaves around him rattled loudly almost in response to his thoughts. The little boy shuddered and rubbed his arms as another chill raced down his spine again. The crack of a dried branch in the distance made him give a start. He dropped his pouch and flute with a frightened whimper. The murmur of hushed voices drifted to his ears; carried across the clearing by the wind. He froze in his tree and held his breath in an attempt to catch what they were saying.

"—an't wait!" The high voice whisper-yelled. "But won't 'ey be in a flap once 'ey se—?"

The wind changed direction---now blowing straight into the young boy's face and making it hard for him to breath and hear the people talking as they trudged across the forest floor. It was quite some time later until it changed directions again and the leaves stopped rattling around so deafeningly. The voices were so distant that he had to strain to catch the whispers.