The Difference In Them

In Years Past

The street beneath his feet was covered in fine, glittering, white snow, for as far as one could see. Cold air crept through every window; freezing every pane and covering the glass with icy patterns. There wasn't a sound to hear, except maybe the labouring, fearful breaths drawn every few seconds from one particular spot outside the upstairs, nursery bedroom, one which belonged to a house numbered fourteen. The rest of London slept, silence in every corner of the city.

Beyond this nursery window- where two boys soundly slept, dreaming of long forgotten adventures that were little more than fairy tales- was an old, teddy bear, with one eye missing and a mouth re-sewn, hanging on for dear life from the loose grip of his sleeping youngster.

In the other bed- which was stationed next to the first and facing the parallel wall to the window- snored an older child, with his spectacles slipping from his acne-covered nose as he dreamt of wondrous things in a far off island. His blankets were strewn across his bed, almost falling off completely and onto the worn carpet, where his book had already fallen from his gangly hand; proof that he had fallen asleep accidently.

Tucked into the corner of the room, in sight of the ice-covered glass was a more grand bed; with thin, pale, pink curtains pulled by golden, roped cords and tied round the carefully painted, wooden posts at each corner of the ancient, well-preserved bed frame. Although this nursery was equipped for three children, only two slept inside.

The doll house abandoned, along with the feathered pirate hat, the jewelled swords and the frivolous memories; sat in the corner nearest the large window. It was beautifully furnished with tiny furniture made of wood and fabric, as well as tiny peg beings to be used as dolls.

Down the well-used stairs and into another room sat a large, deep coloured, wooden table. On top sat a cup; a simple, white, china cup, which had frail, petite hands wrapped around its ceramic shape, trying to keep the heat inside the patches of aged skin. At this table, a woman; a lonely, sleepless woman with memories not quite yet dreams, and her happiness unforgotten, but never relived. There was another window, a tall, wide window, with thin, creamy, veil like curtains to filter the lamp lit world outside in a blurry glow, and keep her sleep deprived body inside.

She could remember her adventures; she could live them again, if she tried hard. Yet the outside world was almost a mystery, like her own dream that she floated through, day by day, hour by hour: her own miserable nightmare.

Outside, a boy hovered just above the roof. He was covered in autumn leaves and vines, a sword dangling from his hip, and her kiss strung around his neck, keeping his memories close to him. The cold air couldn't stop him from returning, like he had for days, months, years. He couldn't stay away for too long. Even when He should be staying in his own fun-filled world, he just couldn't stay away from his precious reality. His own dream that tortured him, but had long since slipped through his fingers.

The window was closed, like it had been for so, so long. She was away, hiding, like every night when she couldn't sleep. Sleep. What even was that? It had been so long since he could remember ever sleeping; when he wasn't in a world that he could no longer call home; when he wasn't tempting himself with something that he could never call his.

He could be everything any child wanted to be; the wonderful boy in the bedtime story. Yet he was desperate for something he could never quite reach, something just too far from him. He was the outline of a hero, but inside he was his own villain, forced to watch everything he loved be stripped from him. Was it all his fault?

The world that he used to call home was foreign to him, everything subtly disappearing into the Never Never as his eyes clouded with grief and despair. All of his friends and foes had just...gone. He could never find happiness, and since he could never find happiness, he was stuck in one place, too weak; never able leave for home again.

None of his efforts had worked, none. He had tried to find something new, he had tried to be joyful, but he couldn't stay away for long, he could never, ever stay away. His once bright world had just dissolved in dark sadness, something he couldn't escape from. There were no more fights to win, only the battle in his childlike mind.

A yellow glow stood at the doorway, as if stuck in the air. A silhouette stood behind the glow, and if he looked closely, he could see the mouth where his kiss sat, hidden in the right hand corner. The shadow was still, as if scared to move and frighten him. He was scared to move and frighten her, in case this was all a dream and she would suddenly vanish from his eye. The glow moved closer and the silhouette became clearer, his heart pounding, pounding, pounding. The little dish, in which the candle melted, was set on a small, wooden table beside the window, and one small petite hand gripped the handle of the window he could see she wanted to open the window, yet they both knew not too.

Both the boy and woman were still, parallel to each other, on either side of the window pane. He swiped away some frost so he could see her better; that small delicate nose, the moss green eyes framed by long, dark lashes, the fading freckles that still lingered on her lined cheeks, her surprised, rosy lips. The small kiss; hidden in the right hand corner. His kiss; hidden in the right hand corner.

Even though it must have been several years since they last saw each other, his eyes ignored the wrinkles of laughter, the age in her skin, the grey in her hair. He ignored the fact she was becoming quite old, that she had children, grandchildren... That she had grown up; she was a lady. The smile on her lips proved she, too, forgot those details; even for just a few glorious seconds.

Of course, he wanted to be in that room, holding her close and trying to forget how many years had passed and how many children had separated them, how he had missed her so... but the glass was a symbol, the glass panel between them told them how time still separated them, how they could never truly be with one another, nor even in the same room. As he realised this, her hand fell from the golden knob, falling to her thigh, as her eyes closed. She still smiled, but tears trembled down her porcelain cheeks. Her hands quivered as she tried to make them into trembling fists, but the flush in her beautifully old face was a sign of lost control she no longer gained.

He didn't know what to do as she finally lost her all, as the winter finally took its toll on the golden aged woman, who was no longer a bright eyed, flushed cheeked girl, but a London lady, with children, grandchildren, to show how she had grown up, to show how she had left her adventures and wild dreams for a life of motherhood.

All he did was stare; but she didn't drop with a loud sound, she simply lay on the light carpet with one last breath, her eyes opened for one last look. Wendy's lips shaped one last word...

Peter.