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I watched the sun rise. It was simply the most beautiful sight of light I've ever seen in my life. Nothing like anything I've ever even known. The sunbeams rose up first, in blues and yellows, a light show of misty colors gently and subtly turning the night sky blue. The sun rose up orange and red. Colors of yellow, blue, green, and purple shone in a semi-circle rainbow dancing around the sun. Purely incredible. The sun in this land is different. It's brighter. Neon red, and bright orange, but shines on the land as if it were white, not like the normal yellow sun back home at all.
The early day owns the land now. I sit yet again on the rocking chair, after picking it up from flipping it over, twice. My knees to my chest. The fire outside burns a white smoke into the air, as it is only hot ashes now. Birds sing in the distance, occasionally flying by my window. Slugs and other hairy bugs fall through the holes in the ceiling and drop, disturbing me so. I find myself enjoying the quiet mid-morning. The air is fresh. It is so different from back home. Almost as if it is magical itself.
I don't feel tired, though my eyes burn. They stick to the floor as I hum a favorite tune to myself. A song I used to listen to on repeat in my old bedroom. When I was only fourteen and I would lock the door, blast my headphones and block out the entire world. The tune reminds me of my purple room. I hadn't been there since the day the social workers came and forced me into their van. The memory fires up the rage in my chest and reflex tells me Pan is to blame.
My nerves are suddenly shocked awake by a scream. A scream of pain and terror. My humming cut short, same as my rocking on the chair as I lift my head from my knees. I look to the window. The terror scream pierces again, a voice is pleading. Someone is asking for his life in a panicked, hysterical shout. I jump from the chair, grabbing the window sill and looking at the ground below. The screaming comes from a single boy, begging in a rage for mercy.
The boy sits on his knees, closer to the tree than the leftover fire pit. His hands pressing to his stomach and his head down. Peter Pan stands a few feet in front of the boy, clearly the cause of the boys screams. Four other boys stand on either sides, watching. I hear Pan's voice in a shout at the boy on the floor but I can't make out his words. The boy on the floor shouts back. Pan pulls back his own hand and throws his arm at him like he's whipping something invisible. But it's not invisible. It's a blue, it's bright. And it's powerful. A blue flash of light, long and skinny is thrown from Pan's hand and strikes the boy on the floor.
Everything slows down as I watch the light fly from Pan's palm. All my attention, all my focus goes to the light. Eyes wide, I watch it intensely, becoming so interested in it for the short moment it is whipping, that it's all I want. Forget killing Pan, forget revenge, forget the horrible past and the unsure future. Forget the fear of being captured and the hunger of my stomach, forget everything. All I want, all I need, is that blue light. I need to know what it is and I just need to feel it for myself. It calls me as if I've just found my missing piece. Everything will be complete with that blue light as mine. I look back to the mirror, thinking of the conversation I has last night.
