The Neverland

I honestly never noticed him in school. Just another one of those grey faces that never talks or remotely stands out. Perhaps it was because he always had his hood up, and never spoke. Or maybe it was just the fact that he only showed up for two classes every day - he was as about as mysterious as the strange howling that always seems to happen every night in this town. The two classes he chose to grace us with his silent and somewhat dark presence, was Classic English and Architecture. The two never seemed to hit in similarity, unless it was the writing format for our abundance of essays.

But like I said, I never noticed him until he decided to show up at my door, and claim the impossible. It was a foggy evening, the drizzling rain making the atmosphere even more depressing. I don't know what possessed him to come to me that evening, or how he even found out where I lived; but considering I learned pretty quickly who he was and what he does, it wasn't that hard to imagine. But that started everything. That's the night that my world would be tossed into someone else's palms, theirs to control, manipulate, and destroy.

But if that happened right at the beginning, we wouldn't have a story would we?

His dirty blonde hair was shaggy and slightly fluffed out. His intoxicating green eyes seemed to light up with such passion and intelligence, that I didn't even recognize him at first. He seemed taller, but more boyish than he had in class, and that mischievous glint in his eyes made me question his gaze. "You're the queen of Neverland."

I blinked, and I blinked again. Then I burst out laughing, but when I looked back into his more serious stare, I had a small nag of suspicion and nervousness. "I didn't take you for a pot head." I mused, a small smirk crossing my face. He glowered, and my smirk flattered slightly. But only slightly. "If that's all you had to tell me Peter Pan, I think we're done here." I bowed sarcastically, silky caramel hair tickling my face. I pulled up, and saw he was gone.

I rolled my eyes, and sighed. I closed the door, and locked it shut, and turned around. I squeaked softly in surprise; he was just hanging out on my staircase with a green apple in his hands. "Your majesty, that was rather rude." He scoffed, his eyes locking with my stormy blue ones. "Get out druggie or I'll call the cops." I said, whipping out my phone. I pulled my hand into the jacket pocket of my Letterman, securing my hand around the pocket knife.

He raised his arms in defeat, and stood up. "Call the cops, call whoever you want. It won't stop your fate, love." His British accent leaked through the fake American one. "Looks like your tongue has betrayed your best intentions of me believing you were from Rhode Island." I mocked him, a fake, pathetic sigh seeping through my lips.

To my utter surprise, he pushed my up against the door, slim and nimble fingers grasping my chin. "I'm damn sure I was clear with my message." He growled in impatience. He slid us up the door frame, until we hit the middle of the threshold window. I gasped slightly in shock, craning my neck to see if I wasn't on one of those prank tv shows, looking for wires, looking for cameras, for anything. "Who are you?" I hissed in a poisonous tone, the venom in my face I could see shocked him. "You said my name before." He murmured softly, wrapping a arm around my waist.

He leaned over to my ear, and whispered, "I'm Peter Pan."