Wendy Darlin'

Chapter Twenty-One - Mermaids

Rain has begun to fall into the smoke from the fire, making the air humid, but more bearable. The mud has become wet and sloppy, and my feet often get sucked down, slowing me down considerably.

The thought that peace is so close consoles me. With only one thing on my mind, the constant noise from the forest creatures that I once feared now comfort me, remind me of Peter. The woody smell is the same as that which lingers on his skin, the leaves the same colour as the dirt under his nails. That would have once disgusted me, but it is Peter through out, the way he is.

I keep running at the best pace I can through the sticky mud. I do not dare to glance at the map, out of fear that the rain may wash the ink off the parchment, but I have to, to make sure I am on track.

After slight changes in my path to fit the map, I stumble into an awfully familiar clearing.

A mound of dirt stands in the center, a sprinkling of small, new flowers just finding their roots in the earth. Different forms grow amongst one another, entwining stems with stems, green leaves with golden. White roses grow upon pink-tipped daisies, violets and blue bells, despite them being out of season back home. 

I try not to cry as I gaze upon Bethany's grave, try not to think of her rotting corpse under the soil, but instead of her thick locks and bright eyes, of her ever shining hope in dark times. My breath runs short and I allow myself to fall down next to her, to mourn for the girl we lost. 

Time passes as I watch the skys, rain striking me like bullets, and I hold my hand out to the side, almost feeling her with me, but knowing better than that, knowing ghosts and visits from dead friends are just children's tales. Alas, the thought comforts me and I see her smiling face in the eye of my mind.

We could have been the best of friend, Peter, Slightly, Bethany and I. In those few short moments all four of us shared, I dream of a could-have-been, remenise over all the adventures that shall never occur thanks to Aiden's henchmen stricking the life out of her with a single bullet. What a shame, that the girl who survived countless days on a ship filled with leary pirates only to be shot down at her escape.

I wipe away the tears that linger on my cheeks with the back of my hand. Time for remembering is over, I have to think about Peter once more. With Bethany, Slightly and my family gone, he is all I have left.

***

Mother was never fond of rain, and always encouraged me to carry an umbrella.

I never favoured the idea of an umbrella looming above me when I was young, I much prefered to play in the puddles like the little boys did. Mother soon sought to dig this habit out of me and I began to see the sense in having an umbrella. To prevent one's hair from curling.

As I continue my journey throughout the woods, I no longer fancy an umbrella as I once would have done. I am fully aware of the friz in my hair and the redness of my cheeks and I care no more. I almost laugh at the thought of Mother choking on her tea if she were to see I was wearing no powder to cover my "hideous freckles". 

I seek shelter under a tree and pull out the map, careful to prevent the ink from running. I am so close now, I can taste the salty sea air on my lips. I try not to shake with excitement as I shove it back into my pack and carry on, my pase quickening significantly.

The rain ceases and the sun appears almost immediatly. Wiping the last rain drops off my forehead, I continue, my feet splashing in the small, muddy puddles that have formed on the forest floor.

Haunting songs cause me to stop. Their tune is so different and chilling I feeling a shiver coursing through my bones before I take one step closer. With shaking hands, I push away the emormous leaves shrouding the cove.