Peter Pan- An epilogue

Sorry it's taken so long to post, I finally got some inspiration for a piece. Enjoy!

Salty. Cold. Lonesome. The sea shore was always like this for Peter.

Peter was tired; he rubbed his eyes and scraped the grime from under his fingernails. They had grown since he'd last looked at them. No wonder there was so much dirt on his palm.

The young man gazed off the cliff and watched as the skeletal remains of the Neverbird floated by on it's decaying nest. The nest was in fact the old sailor's hat that Peter had swapped a long, long time ago for the original nest, to save himself. He still remembered that night.

Peter hated remembering. It was a relentless sign of getting older. Usually, for us here at home, forgetting is the surest sign of aging. But for Peter, he had never remembered anything before now. At least he hadn't tried, and because of change he could remember the little girl he had adventured with ages ago. He could sometimes smell her hair on the wind that brushed in from the east.

Wendy.

Wendy had been wonderful, she had been the best mother to him; no other girl could've been better. He had truly enjoyed himself those days, sitting in their burrow of a house and listening to tales of Cinderella and pirates. The pirates Wendy made up weren't half as exciting as the real ones, here on Neverland, but they had been so entertaining all the same.

Peter turned away from gazing into the north and gave up finding the star. He walked home, noticing how unusually long his legs were.

Peter's home was now a proper little shack. He had grown so much taller now that he could build himself a roof and even a tiny cellar. He kept stollen rum from the pirates under his floorboards and used the basement for his winter sleeping place. Neverland was bitterly cold this time of year and he quickly tucked himself away through the hatch in the floor. The burrow beneath his shack was cozy enough. Peter loved to watch Tink flit about in her lantern room. Tink was getting older too, her hair was longer and her face looked worried. She loved Peter dearly, but he never acknowledged it. He knew it, he just didn't want it. It was dangerous thinking like that, he knew, but Tink was just a reminder of how different he'd become.

“Tink?”

Yes?

“Tink, do you think I'll ever find the north star again?”

You silly ass! Of course you will.

“Tink! Don't talk so. How should I find the north star then? Suggestions?”

Why don't you consult the fountain?

There was a silence as Peter pondered the idea. He hadn't been to the Fountain of Youth in so long he almost doubted- no. The fountain must be in Neverland still. He knew it, deep inside that he had to save himself. And Tink.

“To the Fountain of Youth it is, dearest!” And with that, Peter Pan bundled up and then sweeping Tink along, went up the hatch and out into the cold night air. He strode confidently through the Piccaninny territory, across the bridge over the Strangling Straight, and reached the base of the Mountain of Discovery. He was going on a new adventure, and this time, he swore he would forget everything he ever did. 

--dh

Upcoming Series

Hi all!
I wanted to let you know the plan for the next posts I will hopefully be putting up within the next few months. I wanted to start a mini series of classic fairy tales but retellings with new perspectives, themes and details I've been wanting to publish. I hope I can cover at least a few of the below:
-Snow White
-Jack and the Beanstalk
-Peter Pan
-Hansel and Gretel
If you have any other nursery rhymes, favorite fairy tales or myths you'd like to see re-imagined just comment below and I'll check the out! 
dh

Ink

So... this blog is called Ink and Imagination, right? Well, here's some ink :D

Actually, to be more accurate, it's eyeliner and some imagination:D
Post soon!

Wanderlust.

Freda gazed out of the row home window, feeling oddly lonely. She knew she shouldn't  she was married now and had two little trouble makers of her own. But then, there it was again! Something stirred inside her that made her feel restless, a bit like her old self, back when being a wife let alone a mother had been a far off goal, not a noisy reality. She loved her family, her husband with his wry humor and imaginative ingenuity. But she knew the symptoms of the wanderlust that had plagued her since she was a girl.

            “Mommy, I think, I think Carson’s playin’ on the computer again…” Jack sidled up to his daydreaming mother, taking her hand and touching its long fingers with his own small, moist hand. Freda smiled and walked into the kitchen where the laptop was set up to find her oldest son pounding away at the keys with his fists.

            “Carson! Hey, hey, don’t bang on it like that, that’ll break it and then Daddy will get mad,” she explained, tugging Carson's strong little body away from the computer. But she still felt... detached. She sighed absentmindedly and Jack tugged her jeans to be held. Glancing at the clock Freda frowned with anxiety. She hadn’t realized the time was so late, hardly enough time to prepare a good dinner now. There was always pasta, her lazy mind offered, and she sighed again in resignation to a dull supper. Her husband however was not dulled a bit by the news of dinner when he returned from work, coat flung over his shoulder and his bag bursting with files and pens as usual. She loved the way he looked when he crouched down to capture one of his sons in his arms.  But she was snapped back to her daydreams of being with him on their wild honeymoon when they had toured the world and eaten strange foods and adventured in the mountains. But that was then. And this, their family life, was now.

            “Hey, could you imagine us taking the boys on a trip?” She asked when dinner was almost done and she was just unbuckling Jack from his booster. James’ brown eyes laughed when he looked up from his plate.

            “Yeah, I could also imagine us being millionaires in Holland. Why do you ask?”

Lexie chewed her lip sheepishly.

            “I just… I wanna travel again, James. I wanna see more of the world, more of the continents and just enjoy adventuring again. Carson stopped playing with the crumbs on the table. Jack could tell the subject was an important one too. James sat back and looked thoughtful.

            “Like… where?” 

dh

Fences.

The couple leaned against the farm fence. Daniel was watching the sunset intently when he heard Briana’s audible sigh.

“What?” He asked, afraid he’d done something wrong in the last ten minutes they’d been together.

“Nothing… well, I was just thinking about Kennedy” Briana said heavily and stuck the long stem of a convenient weed into her mouth.

“She’ll be fine… we both know she’s way to smart to do any good here anyway” he switched to leaning his elbows on the fence with his back to the horizon.

“It’s getting dark… we should go in.”

“Sure, are you gonna be staying?” Briana asked as they slowly walked toward the lit house, and spitting out the weed simultaneously.

“I dunno… Dad said he wanted some help moving his rusty old tractor out of the barn tomorrow.”

Briana raised her eyebrows, shocked.

“You mean your old man’s going back to farming? Is it that tough?” She stopped Daniel with a hand on his arm. He thrust his hands into his pockets to avoid her eyes. But when her grey gaze met his hazel one, all she could see there were guards, guards that weren’t letting her in to see how bad the Kirkley farm was.

“Nah… he just wants to sell the old heap of junk… he says he’ll-”

“He’ll never, ever, go back to farming?” Briana finished for him and looped her arm through his.

“Yeah…” Daniel replied dumbly. They walked all the way to the porch in silence and then, under the dim light of the bare light bulb that hung there, Briana said,

“Hope things get better. For both of us” and with that she held his head in her hands and kissed his forehead.

“Good night” she said quietly and left him standing in the night, the echo of the screen door slamming ringing in his head. 

Hope you liked!

DH

Angels.

DISCLAIMER:

This is not a violation of lyric/ word stealing, this is a 'song story' inspired by a song written by a really great artist, some of the lyrics are incorporated straight into the story, but the overall feel was inspired by the music of Angels, by Owl City. 

Jeremy slept soundly until a subtle rustle awakened him with a jolt of fear. Good; the nightlight was lying unplugged on the desk.

Then a wave of restless anticipation tingled through him, and he sat up, swinging his long, skinny legs off his planet covered blankets. He strode to his only window’s sill and placed his spindly fingers on it, peering into the dark below, and curiosity vaguely plaguing his mind. He blinked hard and then shook his head, maybe tomorrow, he thought, disappointed. Suddenly, an idea struck him and he hurriedly dashed off a few words on a piece of torn note book paper. He left it on the empty chair in the corner, nearest the window.  “I’m dreaming of the life I once loved. So wake me if you’re out there…”  It said in a hand that was unsure. Crawling silently back to his warm blankets, Jeremy let himself fall away into the peaceful nothingness of dreamless slumber.

The sun woke the boy the next morning, pouring gloriously through the still parted curtains. Jeremy sat up and checked the chair. The note was on the floor now and his small kitten, Babby, was looking blithely up at his master with his slitted yellow eyes.  Jeremy frowned and scooped the little ball of fluff into his arms and after glancing one last time a the window, he left to go eat breakfast. As he finished and dumped his dishes into the old, yellowing sink, he ran to the hall to get his woolen sweatshirt he wore under a coat.  He passed the living room and double took with surprise and the same feeling of fear that had engulfed him the night before. He peered harder at the fake fireplace (the great chimney had been sealed up long ago) and then shook his head. There was no flame there anymore, not even a tell-tale ash was to be had on the ancient stone hearth.

He hurried on and stepped out into the blustering, bright fall day. The leaves all around the house fluttered and quivered from the sturdy trunks and limbs of the surrounding Beeches and Oaks. Jeremy wound his scarf around him and shrugged into his coat, a basket in gloved hand and a trowel in the other.  The gloves on the boy’s fingers were worn to the point of nonexistent tips and there were several growing holes on the palms. But Jeremy didn’t mind, in fact he really loved his old gloves and wouldn’t part with them until they were in-wearable. He trotted down the leaf strewn path and turned down a skinny, dirt and dust covered foot path that led straight to the base of the giant Oak he loved to sit in.

He spent hours a day just sitting in the forks of the great beamed tree, studying the names carved in the trunk and picking the acorns off of the last harvest. He listened to the wind patterns and watched the leaves below him rustle and tumbled in the chilly breeze’s wake. Suddenly, he could’ve sworn he saw two feet shaped holes in the blanket of russet and gold leaves below him, as if someone was waiting for him to descend, to pick him up in their arms and carry him home to a cup of hot chocolate and biscuits. But no, not today, he thought. He squared his thin shoulders and resolutely decided he’d wait until he was old and grey for the footsteps of parents to fill the space beneath the tree…

Hope you liked!

DH

Hello.

Welcome to my blog, Ink and Imagination!
This is my latest endeavor to publish and invite constructive (and instructive) criticism on one of my favorite pastimes: writing!  
I'm not committing to any strict agenda for posting, but I will try and put something up once a week or at least two times a month. 
I hope the readers of this blog will respect my rights as an author and make sure not to plagiarize or copy any of the works posted here for your literary enjoyment. 
Will post soon!
DH