adomania [ONE-SHOTS]

lost boys

RED BELT / 3000 WORDS: guess who's been really sick the past two weeks? yep, me. rip my immune system. i know the ending is ... ugh. but this will have to do.

IMPORTANT: This is a fanfiction! The original story idea is written by J.M. Barrie and this short story is also inspired by Christina Henry's retelling. [PETER PAN]

There comes a moment in every child's life, when they realise that they did something terribly, irreversibly wrong. Sometimes it's something small, like breaking a vase that their parent loves and now they'll be in a lot of trouble. And sometimes, sometimes it's much, much bigger. Bigger than the child, bigger than anything they know.

That's usually when they turn back to their parent or guardian or a loved person, admit their mistakes, and everything will be alright again. Because those adults can righten their mistakes. But what is a child supposed to do, who has no one to turn to? No adult, no loved one?

Weston certainly had no idea, as he stood over the dead body of his friend Tooze. Small, innocent Tooze, who still had all of his baby teeth, dimples and a blond mess of hair on top of his head. Now, his blond hair was tinted red as the boy laid in his own blood. Weston had no idea how a small boy could bleed that much. To be honest, in this moment he realised that he didn't know a lot of things.

Should he leave the body there? Should he bring him back to the Hangman's Tree? Where was Peter when he needed him? How could a little boy die?

A loud screech interrupted his thoughts, and he snapped back to reality. Weston was far from being safe, that was one thing he actually knew. He grabbed his dagger from the ground, a rusty old thing that was far too big and heavy for a boy like him and carefully checked his surroundings. The woods around him were quiet, a little too quiet for his taste. He had to act fast, or otherwise he would end up like Tooze – a small dead body in the wilderness.

"Sorry Tooze," he whispered to the dead boy, before he turned west, finding a small path in the underwood. He climbed over the dead body of the giant crocodile that laid just a few steps away from Tooze. The monster that had killed the young boy was massive, it's body bigger than the two young boys combined, teeth sharper than Weston's dagger. Still, Weston's dagger had won against the hard and thick skin of the monster, as the crocodile had focused on his younger friend. An eye for an eye, that's something that Weston had learned on the island. Tooze had died before Weston had killed the crocodile, a sheer impossible task for any boy his age. But the life on the island was hard and nothing for soft children. That's why Weston was still alive and soft, small Tooze was gone.

Sometimes, Weston wished the island wasn't so cruel. Sometimes, he wished that mistakes wouldn't leave them in mortal danger or even dead. But then he thought of all the wonders and beauty that the island held, of the endless adventures that came with it, and his young heart started beating faster. He loved it, the danger, the games, even if sometimes the games turned out terrible.

Swiftly like a shadow, Weston left both bodies behind, making his way through the seemingly endless woods towards the place he called home – the Hangman's Tree. He was well aware of the monsters that were following him, but he lost them quickly. He was Peter's second in command for a reason, he was nearly as fast, as light-footed as Peter, and he knew the island nearly as well as him.

The trick to do that, to lose the monsters and at the same time never lose the path, was to play. Play a game, play hide and seek, play escaping maze, play last one's dead. No child is faster, cleverer, then when they're playing a game. That's another thing he knew.

It usually takes two days from the Crocodile Creek to the Hangman's Tree. That was, when you had all the boys with you, at least one of them was constantly distracted, playing a game, and they had to take breaks every hour or so. Weston made the way in about half a day's time. He walked through the night, not scared of the monsters that lured behind trees and mountains. He had seen them all, and he knew them. And, he did not know that, the monsters secretly feared him as well.