VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When a Punishment Happened

The cold water beats a steady rhythm against my skin. Pounding like a drum. I rub my face, scratching away at the layer of dirt, dried blood, and scabbing on my face.

When the game ends, all the severe injuries go away.

Leaves and twigs fall down to my feet, slamming into the ground, weighed down by the water.

All severe injuries, except death.

I rake my hair backwards. It's a heavy weight, pounds upon pounds, pulling my head closer to the ground. Like a ball and chain. Like a death sentence.

He doesn't have time to heal minor things, so the cuts and bruises will fade hopefully.

I don't feel clean, I feel dirty. I grab my cloak and pull it into the water, watching all the blood pour off it, down on to my feet. Coating me like a thin layer of paint.

You are going to have a nasty scar on your face, and maybe along your arms, from snagging on twigs.

I have blood on my hands.

It doesn't look bad; it gives you character.

I pull the dagger out of the pocket.

Makes you finally look like one of us.

One of us.

A Lost Boy.

I grip my hair and in one swift movement, slice it off.

Lost Boys don't have long hair.

I tug and pull at my hair, cutting it until it is short. I doubt the cut looks nice, but it will at least look even in the back from beneath the hat.

You can hardly call yourself a New now, can you?

We stand above the holes in our cloaks. It doesn't rain in Neverland, not since I've been here at least, but the dark clouds rolling in above our heads make it look like it will.

I know four of the five people who are being buried today. I used buried loosely, since two of the bodies were unable to be recovered. I imagine that Samuel's charred ashes are long gone in the wind.

I also use the term loosely, because the bodies we did recover were sent out on a flaming barge.

I missed that procession. I wasn't in the mood to attend. The smell of burning corpses is fresh enough in my mind, I don't need to relive the Game.

I heard Lyle's body was sent out in a casket. To hide the hideous mangled face Gregory so kindly gave him.

I wonder if Lyle's parents know he's dead. Like a thick pain in their stomachs, that only can be attributed to parental instincts. The hope of saving him from a kidnapper, or finding him as a runaway suddenly gone.

I wonder if that's worse than them having hope he's coming home.

I don't know how long's it's been since he's last seen them; I lost count of the days. I do know, however, that they will never see his face again. Neither of them.

Another casket belongs to Caleb, the coma boy. Unfortunately he didn't make it on his own. Wilbur made his way back to camp yesterday. We had a search party and a casket ready for him too.

I never met the boy in the final casket. I don't think I even recognise his face. Apparently he was pretty new to, a few shipments before the other boy died by tiger.

There is no casket for the final boy. We may never find his body.

I throw dirt on the caskets and walk away. Turning away from the camp and deep into the forest. I notice Johnny's eyes meet mine, but I look away.