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The wind could scream around me as loud as it wanted to but still the thoughts in my head would scream louder. And Peter Pan could clasp and pull me as close as he wished but my eyes would refuse to look back at his. The salty sea would stay far behind us, and the trees low beneath us for the entire flight back to the tree house hideout, and not once could I find the reason or courage to let him see what's in my eyes, in my mind. I could never. If, even for a moment, I allowed those seeping green eyes of Satan to catch a glimpse of my uncertainty then I would be handing him exactly what he wants.
Until discovering that what I've always longed for is right here around me, it was always intended to get back to London. If fate somehow granted me my wildest wishes of making Pan suffer, as it did when it planted me on the island of my dreams, then the end goal was still always to go back home. After revenge, after fighting for answers to this source of magic that called me so loudly, London was always the endgame. It didn't even have to be London, just getting far away from Peter Pan's miserable, evil grasp was always number one priority. Although now I've made the horrid discovery that the escape I had of the real world, the dream land I begged for, is truthfully this nightmare island ruled by something dangerous and dark. And the worst of it all; my want to leave has become absent and it's exactly what he wanted.
The atmosphere has entered a darkening of clouds in sky over a deep mist slowly overtaking the forest down below. The night excited to finally have a turn to expose itself in a calm ominous leak. With every adding dewdrop to every blade of wild grass down there a thought of why or how I could possibly dream of this place years ago seeps into my mind. The lively ground that darts passed, the shoreline we left behind, the ancient mountains that texture the map show me memories of the hot flames and smokey ash in the air. We fly over the deep valleys that bring up deep memories of watching this land burn alive, pieces of memories with what I'm seeing in front of me connecting like the mist to the ground around us.
When he lands us back at the enormous tree house I've only ever so disoriented, enraged, and evidently lost in the mystery of it all. Lost in thought, lost in the past but like the stars mixed in the daytime I'm lost in the present around me also. I wonder how conceivable it is for him to somehow, magically, plant memories of this island in my head just to make me want to stay. There is no way of finding out without exposing my secret of having I've seen this place before. The fear alone of how quickly he'll kill me if he knew I harbored such a secret, or worse, if he believes still that I lie about how I ended up on the shore, convinces me to never let him know, ever.
Once we land in the campground outside of the tree house Pan drops me, fairly high, onto the grass, never allowing any sense of gentleness in his touch, but I mattered not since I was aching to disrupt all contact. The wet grass soaking my long since disgusting socks, and my kneecaps when I fall from too high, I clench hard. The wet pebbles in the substrate that caught me dig into the open cuts on my palms when I land but relief from his touch feels overwhelmingly safer, so I embrace it.
