The following is just a piece of creative writing that I am working on. It may lead somewhere, it may just be left as written. Only time will really tell, but I wanted to put it out there. To breath a little life into this writing dream. Enjoy. Comment if you like it.
Call me Peter Pan. Almost everyone does. Not that there’s really anything special about me. I can’t fly. I haven’t fought a dastardly pirate captain (though I doubt I would have won even if I did.) I don’t have many friends, especially a magical fairy one. I wish I lived in a forest away from here, but I don’t. In fact, there’s really only one thing that I have in common with the real Peter: I am an orphan named Peter, too.
It was my third birthday. I remember it well. My mom took me to the big park with the lake and the ducks we used to feed. We used to go there and play on the playground, my mom helping me across the monkey bars and playing on the see-saw. She used to go with me down the big slide, afraid that I might fall. On the day mom left, she let me go down the slide alone for the first time. Her “brave, big boy.” I still see the proud smile. She let me go down as many times as I wanted. And then she took me to Mrs. Hopewell’s house and never came back.
For years afterwards, I used to think that one day there would be a knock on the big blue door, and mom would be on the other side with a big balloon and a card. She would tell me “Happy Birthday Peter” and tell me how sorry she was, and tell me that she had gotten lost on the way back to Mrs. Hopewells. She would come back and take her Lost Boy home. She wouldn’t need a present. Just another hug from Mom would be enough for me. Just mom and me again.
That day never came.
Craig Hopewell (who is only a year older than me) told me the truth when I was six years old. My mom had left a note with Mrs. Hopewell saying she never wanted a son like me to begin with. She never meant to be a mom. She could never learn to love me. Never. Never. Never.
Welcome, Peter. Welcome to your Never Land.