Memories of a Lost Soul

The Fairy Queen

'Is it true that you turn Pearl and Ernie into Fairy Dust?'

'Yes.' Without so much as a pause, she answers.

I can feel my heart breaks a little. I remember how the Lost Boys were all waving and smiling at her back at The Lagoon. All of the Lost Boys, including Stickboy, respects her. They are all grateful of her. Now, clearly, such emotion is a waste on her.

'Why...?'

'Could you repeat that, dear?'

'WHY? WHY did you turn children into Fairy Dust? WHY did you kill them?!' I repeat, louder.

'As far as I'm concerned, I did not kill anyone. They are all already dead.'

'DON'T PLAY DUMB! ANSWER ME!'

'But that is true. I simply put an unwanted materials into good use.'

'Materials?'

'Indeed. Do you know, Peter?' Queen Titania waves her hand and the Fairy Dust starts to swirl. 'A soul without a body, a lost soul, is as good as abandoned. Without anywhere to go, they were left to wander the world for eternity,' she clasps her hands together. 'Until I build this island of dreams and fantasies, Neverland.'

'You build Neverland?'

'I did. I build you a resting place, a playground for you to spend your remaining time as a lost soul. I build you a home.' She looks at me. 'You all should be grateful to me, and yet...look at you.' A chill run down my spine. 'Planning to overthrow ME in MY kingdom, for merely...disposing some corpses.'

'Corpses...?'

'Oh! Woe me!' She dramatically covers her face. 'All the good deeds I've done and this is how you repay me?'

'Good deeds...?'

'It doesn't come as a surprise though,' she floats closer. 'You have always been a thorn on my mind. How can a mere, fading lost soul possess such power?'

I don't understand anything she said. First of all, she called us corpses, but when I think about the Lost Boys, I wouldn't have guessed that they are all dead. She said that she took care of the Lost Souls and we should be grateful at her. Should we? Something doesn't feel right. Does she truly save us? Was it really better to play here until it was our time to go? When we 'go', was it really better for us to be turned into Fairy Dust? I don't know.

'Cat got your tongue, little boy?'

No answer comes to my mind.

'So be it. Goodbye, Peter Nicholson.'

As I cling to the sturdy branches, golden dust starts to surround me. I panic. My grips loosen and soon, I am falling through the air. I notice that there are more golden dust now. It doesn't hurt me. It just feels cold and breezy. I look at my hand, which is slowly vanishing, like a pile of dust being blown by wind. It may be because of the panic, or the fear, or the desperation, but I feel like everything seems to be going slower. With nothing else I can do, I close my eyes.

In the comfort of my own mind, a scene appears before me. It's the park near our house. I remember my parents and I went there for a picnic one day. I could hear several children running around with a sword, made out of newspapers. Smiles and laughter surrounded us, and then, my mother called me for lunch. I remember some foods being laid out on a checkered picnic blanket. We ate, talked, and played around until the sun went down. 

I wonder, is this what people called having your life flashes before your eyes?'

Then, my back hit the ground. It's soft. It's painless. Is this what true death feels like? Slowly, I open my eyes, only to close it again. Bright light was shining right into my eyes. I get up and look around. I am sitting on the ground, which is covered in damp grasses. Faintly, I can hear some people, laughing excitedly in the distance. 

'Are you alright, young man?'

A voice calls out to me. I look behind me and see a man, probably in his thirties, approaching me. He is dressed casually in a short-sleeve shirts and black trousers. He is cleanly shaven and his hair is tidily combed. I keep staring at him as he helps me up and sit me on a bench. Somehow, I feel like I have met this man before.

'Are you hurt somewhere?'

I feel like my brain stops working for a moment. I am sure that I was clinging to the Pixie Hollow tree when I fell. I pat myself down, my head, my chest, my arms, and legs. Everything is still there. I rub my fingers together, checking for any fairy dust. None. Nothing is missing. Not even a strand of my hair. There is no fairy dust either. Not even a speck on my clothes or hair.  

'But how?' I mumble.

I am sure that Titania was trying to turn me into fairy dust. When I fell, I was pretty sure that half of my body had turned into fairy dust, but nothing is missing. All it did was transported me to some random location. I look around. Somehow, this place looks familiar. From the trees, pavement, and playing children, I can tell that this is a park.

'Young man? Is everything alright?' Getting no response from me, the middle-aged man calls me again.

'Oh!' HIs voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 'No! No! I'm not hurt'

'You should be more careful next time'

I nod, but my mind is somewhere else. He can see me. I thought people couldn't see me because I'm already dead. I didn't realize it before, but I'm sure that some people would have seen me flying a few days ago. I glance at the man beside me. He is holding a bouquet of flowers and a walking cane. I wonder what he is doing here.

'The weather is great today. What makes you go to the park this early?'

'Uh...I was....taking...a walk. Yes! I was taking a walk!' It's the only excuse I can think of. A bad one.

 'Talking a walk! That's a good! Not many young people walk in the park these days'

'Are you here on a walk too, sir?' I ask him, trying to change the subject.

'You could say that,' he sighs, before correcting himself. 'No. Actually, I come here for a different reason.' I wait for him to continue. 'You see, my son died here three years ago'

'Your son?'

'Yes. He is....I mean, he was 12. It is kind of embarrassing, but I couldn't remember his face anymore. All I can remember is how playful he was.' He laughs a little before continuing. 'He used to make a mess of the house just to make a couch fort and then...'

He spends the next few minutes telling me what fun things his son has done. He said that he liked to draw and play=pretend. He used to draw on paper, and when he ran out of space, he would draw on the wall. He had always made a mess, building couch forts, drawing in the pavement, 'trying' to make a tree house, and his mother just let him.

'She always said that he's just a child, he will grow out of it, but I don't think he ever will.' 

'Your son sounds like an interesting person!'

'He is! If he was here, you two could probably get along!' He smiles as he stare into the distance. 'I really regretted shouting at him that day.'

I feel a little bit awkward, so I ask him the first thing I can think of, 'What's your son's name?'

'His name is Peter. Peter Nicholson.'

Odd. Somehow, that name sounds very familiar.

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A/n: Part 7! We're getting close to the end guys! Thank you for reading!