Back Home ✧ {Wendy Darling}

✧ Chapter One ✧

"Would you like some tea Miss Darling?", a nurse with a plastered on smile grinned at me, holding out a stained teapot. It was chipped at the bottom, but then again not many things wound up in places like this if they weren't broken, including the people.

Her slightly greasy, dyed blonde hair was scraped off her face so severely it reminded me of the hair my mother used to style for my dance classes. A neat bun that made your scalp tingle like burning wood once it was taken out. She was young; too young to be working in a place like this.

Everything here was old; every resident's hair was specked with grey, some sporting a shimmering silver up-do while others' resembled the colour of the sky on a winter's afternoon after a relentless downpour; dark and miserable. For some you could say it matched their personalities. The whole building seemed to be aged and withering, dying ivy clung to its walls like a persistent lover, refusing to let go until one of them crumbles. If I had to take a bet, I'd say the ivy would last longer.

The interior was painted in a pale green that was slowly peeling off, it was the type of green that reminded you more of ill, lonely days than any summery adventure. Even the sky outside looked sick; an abyss of yellow and impending clouds, covering the last strip of sunlight. Everything here was dying; including me.

"I'll have a little", I smiled up at the nurse, before looking out of the common room's glass doors. The garden beyond them was slowly fading to black as night advanced. It would soon become a haven for nightmares; complete with tall, winding trees that scratched at your neck like long, overgrown fingernails and bushes that rustled as the wintery wind whistled through their brown leaves. Even at this age, I couldn't help but pictures the monsters that were hidden out behind those unkept rose bushes and stretches of long, wiry grass.

"Any sugar, Miss Darling?", she said. Her smile didn't waver but she was looking straight past me, off into the distance. I didn't blame her, I'd rather be dreaming of somewhere else than be stuck in here too. I began to wonder what she was thinking of. Love? Friendship? Or was it something more simple, like what was she going to have for dinner tonight?

I didn't think of any of those things anymore. Most of my friends were six foot under, the rest barricaded away by nursing homes and hospital beds. Old age could become a lonely thing if you let it. And let me tell you, I definitely had let it. I guess I didn't really mind though, I never really let the loneliness affect me for I knew if I ever felt lost or alone I always had my secret recluse I could run to. My private escape that only me and its inhabitants knew about.

"One spoon, please", I answered in reply to the nurse and she poured a heaped spoon of sugar in like clockwork, I guess that's what happens when you're stuck making cups of tea for a dozen pensioners everyday.

"Thank you", I nodded my head at her as she turned away, pushing her trolley laden with tea and biscuits on to the next armchair positioned around the room. Every person sat in here was quiet, bar one who appeared to be talking to himself. Nobody tried to make conversation, relying on the television, that was murmuring away in the corner, to make up the noise. It was one of those pointless quiz shows, as per usual, that you knew would end up with someone crying over losing a jackpot. Even the television in this place lacked zest for life.

Day after wretched day I'd watched the world roll on by outside of my gingham-curtained window, whilst I was stuck in here. The only change of scenery I ever got was the different wallpaper of my bedroom and the common room.

I'd first came here about four years ago, much to my protest. It had been my daughter, Jane, who had persuaded me into the idea, but even she rarely visited anymore. When she did, it would be a short stay, a couple of hours at the most. Just enough for me to hear how her career was advancing and how stressful the house was now with her oldest, Margaret, hitting teenage years. Everything about Jane's life was stressful, apparently. Work, children, marriage. I couldn't remember being so stressed at her age, to her everything was a hassle and she was always busying around like a bumblebee on the first day of spring, itching to fly off and gather pollen.

Danny, her younger brother, was the polar opposite. He had resided to Australia aged just 21 and had chosen to stay there. I couldn't say I blamed him. He seemed to be enjoying his life of barbecues on the beach and long, sunny days. He was yet to have any children, though he seemed to be going through enough women, a point I regularly brought up whenever he got round to ringing me. I always tried to stop myself from nagging, it was his life after all, but I guess I couldn't stop myself from worrying about my happy little chappy. I guess he'd always been that way; laid back, relaxed, happy. As I said, the polar opposite of Jane.

My younger brothers, Michael and John, had both spent the last years of their lives in homes just like this. All three of us tucked away in places where our children knew we'd be looked after, where they didn't have to worry. Out of sight, out of mind I guess. It still didn't seem real that both of them had passed on. To me, they'd always be my baby brothers staring up at me with gap toothed smiles, John with his oversized bottle-like glasses and little red-headed Michael who laughed at the smallest of things and always carried his old, battered teddy bear with him. It didn't seem right that I, the oldest of all of us, should still be here living on.

Michael's funeral was the last time I'd left this prison like building. I'd dressed myself up in my classiest black outfit; a black velvet dress with kitten heels. My long, mist coloured hair was tied up and fastened with a sparkly clasp I used to only use for special occasions. I guess it came to something when you began to see funerals as your only chance to wear something reserved for celebrations.

My mind was numbed to the idea of death. I'd already lost both of my parents and the majority of my friends so no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it seem real. The whole day was a somber affair, full of weepy eyes and cracking voices from those making speeches. Michael had been a popular man in his neighbourhood and it seemed the majority of them had turned out for his farewell.

I'd sat in the front pew of the church, wiping my tears away absentmindedly wondering where Michael was now. Heaven? Purgatory? Reincarnated and already back on earth? Or was he somewhere else, somewhere I felt strongly enough about to call my home? The only place I ever knew of where time, or the concept of it, stood still. Where the edge of the sea met stars, where mermaids hid under rock crevices in deep blue lagoons and where pirates stalked the seas searching for new recruits. A part of me hoped Michael's soul had found its way back to the place to the second star on the right. Almost as much as I hoped mine did when I left this world someday.

Six months had been and gone since then, but I was still here. Sat in the same floral patterned armchair I'd positioned myself in for the last four years. Eating the same dinners of meat and two vegetables night after night. This place was draining my imagination. Eating up all of my sense of adventure. I was beginning to think maybe that was the point. Us oldies are always easier to deal with when we've given up on fighting, aren't we?

The tiredness I was feeling wasn't due to the lack of sleep; in fact, I was sleeping more than ever. No, this exhaustion came from my lack of happiness, my lack of magic. Tiredness was seeping through my veins, hot and heavy in my blood. It was slowly poisoning every part of me, exhausting my body and making me delusional. I once got told that your body knows when it's going to die and attempts to prepare you for the end. I couldn't help but admit, I was beginning to think this was mine.