WARNING: gore, mentions of abuse.
Do you hear the people sing?
I sighed softly, pulling the thin, tattered sheet closer to my chin, hoping I'd be able to warm myself using just this thin material. I stared up at the dusty wooden ceiling of the attic I lived in. It was dark, and eerie, I didn't like it one bit, but my mother forced me in a few years back. I sighed again, tossing and turning, the cracked wooden planks were really uncomfortable, I couldn't go to sleep. I let out another sigh, closing my eyes as I tried to fall asleep.
Suddenly, the small door of my attic swung open, revealing my furious looking mother, I hastily stood up, bracing myself for whatever scolding she would give me. 'How many more times?! This is the fifth time-and I'm counting-that you leave the dishes unfinished!' She yelled, her raspy voice filled the small room, I winced, screwing my eyes shut, mentally preparing myself. I felt her hand on my cheek in a rough slap, and some more slaps here and there, from then on, it escalated into gruesome beatings, and I saw a lot of red.
I laid on the cold floor, barely able to keep my eyes open. As I stared out of the window, I saw a shadow. The shadow of a young boy, with a hat that had a feather sticking out from it before I slipped into unconsciousness. . .
Singing the song of angry men, it is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!
I woke up the next morning, feeling sore all over. I winced as I tried to get up, though I knew it was a futile attempt. It felt like I had a few broken bones, but I was sure my mother wouldn't go too far. I screwed my eyes shut, flinching as I forced myself up. I limped towards the dark corner of the cramped attic, where I kept my medical first aid kit. I stopped down next to the green box, and opened it.
After I had treated my wounds, I shut the box and returned it to its safe place, where my mother won't see it. I shuddered at the thought, my mother finding the kit. . .
I shook my head to clear the image of her red face, and got up to my feet. I trudged to the the window and slid it open. Immediately, I was hit with a cool breeze, I let it softly caress my skin, filling me up with a warm feeling. I closed my eyes, and took a deep calming breath.
'Hey there!'
A boyish voice yelled out, I popped my eyes open. Right there, a few inches away from my face, was a boy. His eyes were a warm brown hue, he had light brown hair topped with a green hat and a single red feather was pinned on it. There was the biggest smile I've ever seen on his face, and the thing that made me fall back on my bottom was the fact that he was flying.
I stared at him with wide eyes, 'w-who are you?' I stuttered out after my initial shock. The boy leaped in, and stood in front of me with his hands on his hips, the smile still present on his face. Cute, I thought, my cheeks colouring. 'I'm Peter! Peter Pan! And I'm here to take you to Neverland.'
When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums,
I blinked, 'Neverland?' I thought aloud, brows meeting. Peter smirked and nodded in confirmation. 'W-what? Why?' I spluttered, shaking my head, it felt unreal. I could feel confusion radiating from Peter, 'you do know what Neverland is, right?' He asked, his voice dropped. I muttered a weak 'no' and opened my eyes, looking at him with pleading eyes. He wore a frown and I cowered back, curling into a ball while rocking myself back and forth. The attic fell into an uncomfortable silence as I waited for him to yell and hit.
But he didn't.
I looked up and met his warm eyes, swirling with emotion. A light pink dusted my cheeks at the close proximity. 'You. . .you didn't think I was going to. . .to hit you, did you?' Peter asked softly, a hand reaching out in front of me. I looked to the side, closing my eyes tightly. 'That's absurd! I'm here to save you, not hurt you!' Peter bellowed, standing straight, he was towering over me, with a frown on his face. For a second, I thought I saw my mother's face instead of Peter's, and I instantly backed away, eyes wide. Peter's eyes widened, and he quickly scrambled towards my cowering figure, but I had my arms around my knees, and my forehead on my scraped knees, trembling. 'Oh no! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Lord, I didn't know it was this bad!' Peter exclaimed, I could sense the worry in his voice, and that fuelled a spark of hope inside me, he cares for me? I had thought. I peeked from under my arms, Peter was kneeling down in front of me, both his arms hovering a few inches above my shoulders, I could sense he didn't know whether to lay them on my shoulders or not. A worried expression was plastered on his face as he muttered incoherent words.
