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2008-05-28 02:05:01
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Comfortably Lost



“All Children, except one, grow up.”


It was the stinging fact in those simple words that forever plauged Wendy Moria Angela Darling, from the minute she stepped off the great flying pirate ship and onto the plush carpet of the nursery. He had smiled that wonderful smile of his, tipped his little green felt hat with a laugh, and had giulded the ship into awakening colors of the dawn. It was classic Peter, and in that moment Wendy knew that no matter what anyone said their adventure was over and he was not coming back.

But disillusions are strange things, they get under our skin and feed on our deepest needs. The truth was that he was not coming back, but that fact was soon coated over with a firm layer of denile. Wendy was convince that she needed Neverland, that she needed Peter Pan and the lost boys, otherwise she just wouldn’t be Wendy. With that small disillusion firmly planted in her heart she returned to her post by the window, to her stories and daydreams, grasping at the hope that the boy who could fly would return.

The boys were very unlike their sister in the simple point that they had no disillusions about the situation at all. Michael, being the youngest, handled the situation as most five year olds are want to do. He forgot about it. Or rather, he forgot the reality of their adventure, chalking the whole experience up to a set of rather vivid dreams that were most likely brought on by the terrible brocolly his mother always insisted he consume. 

John, on the other hand, remembered everything and knew it had been real. However, as his sister reminded him on many occation, John was dangerously practical. He knew that there was never going to be another romp in Neverland for the Darling children, and he knew that maybe it was for the best. Fantasy could only get you so far in the real world and it was the real world that they lived in. Yes, John was the practical one, and this afforded him the oppertunity to see that his sisters disillusions were deeply rooted in something else. Despite his young age, it was evident to him that his sister was in love. And not the good kind of love, mind you. The kind that consumed and festered, and eventualy distroyed a person.

But what can a child know of love beyond that of the love showed to them by their family. Yes, John was smart, yet how can a child of ten help someone who was heartbroken. He could barely understand the whole thing as it was, let alone help his sister understand that it was time they all moved on. 

Still, he and Michael did the best that they could. Comforting her when she cried, helping her to bed when she once again fell asleep at the window, playacting so that they might get their sister to smile and laugh once more.

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