Never Moon

part 3

"Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."

Peter Pan, "Come Away, Come Away!"

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Char fell asleep in class. She couldn't help it, really. It was cool and dark in the room, and it was after lunch. Her stomach was full and she was bored as her history teacher droned on and on about the long line of the King Georges.

There were quite a lot of them, from what little Char could recall from World History.

As she drifted off into an unsteady sleep, she returned to the same bright, strange island that had been in her most recent dreams.

This time, though, something had changed. Normally there was a sense of carefree freedom to the whole place, but as Char descended through the clouds, she sensed a dark urgency, like the whole island was looking desperately for something is could not find.

Her feet came to rest on the sandy shores of a beach, bright blue water nipping at her heels and getting her shoes wet.

Here was the thing about these dreams: Char could never quite remember them until she went back for another visit, and then every last detail came flooding back into her mind like they had never disappeared in the first place.

Char knew now, and her stride was purposeful as she started inland, looking for someone.

This was Neverland, the place in between waking and dreaming, made from children's dreams and brought alive by their fervent imaginations.

And the boy she was looking for was Peter Pan, the spirit and heart of the island itself. The very land beneath her feet was tied to him in a complex way that nobody could figure out. All they knew was that one did not mess with Peter, or the island would give them hell.

It also reflected his mood, and this was why Char sought him out now: to ask why the colors were a little darker and a bit sharper, and why the sun was covered with grey clouds and the water turned ice cold.

"Peter," she called out, and the name itself lifted her feet off the ground by the smallest amount so she was flying for half a second. "Come on, Peter, don't play games."

Char was at the edge of the Never Forest when a tree snapped in half, the crack startling Char and resonating through the quiet island.

A boy shot into the air from behind the broken tree, carried by an unseen force. It was quite a wonder to see him fly; indeed, if we were to stand where Char is our mouths would hang open and our faces would light with a strange awe that children get often. But Char, having seen the showy entrances of this boy many times before, was not surprised.

He soared gracefully above the treetops, a frown on his face as he instinctually showed off. This boy was in fact the very one Char had been looking for.

"There you are," he said, floating down. "I found you."

Char wanted to point out that no, he hadn't, but nobody could make Peter think that he wasn't the center of the universe, the creator of every single plan or doer of every single deed. His arrogance was his defining feature, and, unfortunately, his most interesting one.

"Yes, very good," she said irritably. "But why is the island grey and quiet?"

"Where are you?" He asked instead of answering her question.

"At school --"

"School. Hah. I don't need school. All those nasty kids and stupid adults."