Date: Fri, 27 May 2005 17:56:18 EDT
From: J
Subject: PETER PAN AND ME 52

THE NIGHT IT RAINED LIKE THE DAY TINKERBELL DIED part 1

Life was good. Tyler was dead. I felt guilty about this. I tried to get
Peter to take Tyler's spirit to ...well, to heaven. Tyler doesn't belong
in the other place, I don't think. Yeah, he did awful things but only in
the end and because he was...well uncomfortable about getting it in his
end, you know. I guess I"m making light of it all because it was really
tragic. I mean, he really loved Scen, I think and Scen loved him too. But
he killed Scen too and would have killed me just to protect his own
formed psyche. I'm still not entirely sure why. Religion and being raised
to hate gays and think it was sin and not wanting to be disliked. But he
would have had a great support system with Scen, me, Peter, the Lost
Boys, even Elise would have come round. And while his ugly brothers, well
ugly in spirit, they were quite handsome and hot on the outside but ugly
and hateful on the inside, mostly hated him for being gay, he had Rober
on his side. Now he's a lost soul, not even a lost boy, and possibly he's
in hell. Peter refuses to talk about it. He refuses sometimes to even
remember Tyler. It's kind of scary how he can forgot someone, especially
someone who was...I wonder if he will ever forget me. Still, I guess
Tyler will learn in the afterlife somehow. It might take a very long
eternity.

Again, life is good. I feel really happy all the time now. The sun almost
never seems to set and when it does, it is still a warm but not
uncomfortably so night. Birds chirp, crickets make calming noises, the
moon comes out and the girl in the moon sings to Peter and even to me. I
love her. I love him. Peter's even somewhat content. There's no bloody
adventures, no threats, no villains, no demons, no Hook, no time travel,
no Seth, no monsters or witches and sorcerers out to take our blood...I
kind of like it. Peter says he does too but I think he's just saying that
to please me. Either that or he's just lying. And lying in the sun is
something he just loves doing. He's so gorgeously tan now. And that smile
with those golden locks...I just melt looking at him and I do that more
and more these days. Then sometimes, something in the back of my mind
remembers how he killed and killed again. I push it to the back of my
mind. To him it was just another adventure, another game. I think.
Sometimes I wonder if he's starting to think it's more than just that. He
so wanted to kill Tyler. I think he saw Tyler as a traitorous turncoat.

Scen and Rober sometimes visit Elise's kingdom and once I think they
brought Bailey but Bailey didn't want visitors. He just needed to make
some plans when he returned to the real world again. I think he's fallen
for some girl on the streets. His family seems to have forgotten his
brothers but they recalled him. Bailey's not sure he should tell them
about Barry's death and Bo's decision to stay on as a lost boy. And I
think his family is much older now then when he left.

Peter. He might be growing...well, I might not want to commit that to
paper cause even now I'm not sure what happened or that I should commit
to what did happen. But his body was certainly, manly in some ways.


Peter refused to talk about Tyler for a long, long time, admittedly
saying, "I shall not speak of that nobody for a long, long time, even
unto death, forever is not too long to keep shut about that turncoat."  I
told Peter to take Tyler to heaven. He ignored me. He shoved me. I know
what you're thinking. I shoved back. He tried to even spit on me. I hate
that. I smacked his ass, his cheek (the one on his face), and kicked his
ass, punched his chest, and refrained from spitting back. I hate that. "I
know I broke my promise to you...."

"I know."

"I had to."

"I know. It's alright...but killing..."

"I know."  Peter looked down, "I know. It's sooo fun!"

"What?"

"I'd do it again. The same way. You know."

"I know."

"I had to."

"Let's not discuss it now."

Peter looked at me, "Not infront of the kids, eh?"

"Shut up, Peter, just shut up."

Peter looked angry and bit his lower lip.

"We'll get through this."

"Sure, we always do, right?"

"You seem almost like a T..."

"Yo, you shut up!"   Peter flew outside.

It was some time before anything really deadly happened or even
important. I wondered why but certainly we enjoyed the rest, even Peter.
He seemed to be changing. Was he approaching his own kind of teenage
hood? I couldn't be sure. Certainly he was no little baby anymore but no
one, not even I, would mention that. More days of complete quiet,
sunshine, summery coolness, cool spring nights and summery days, autumn
winds and little to no rain.

I woke up one night. At the foot of my bed was a figure. "Peter will
forget you, like he forgets us all."

I turned over and put an arm around Peter's shoulder, "Give it a rest,
Seth."

"He's already forgotten you, Chase who?"

"Stop, devil."   I reached for Peter's crotch and found no one there.

"He can't love. That's the mystery of his being."

"Hook, put a lid on it," I murmured in my sleep.

"You area his weakness. But not for long. He knows it. He'll leave you to
me....to us..."

"Kickai? Stop it."

"He'll let you die or worse: he shall kill you."

I felt I was awake. I looked up, the boys were gone. Peter was gone.
Where? On some adventure they decided to not take me on? I felt alone.
Very alone. But for some aching presence. Was it someone....who hated
Peter. Seth? No, Seth didn't anymore. Seth was fully human now and happy.
Was I? Fully? Happy? Human? I sometimes felt as though I didn't even
exist any longer, here in Neverland.

"Like he did you?"

"Chase, it's me. You know me. I didn't mean it."

"You tried to kill me. And you did kill Scen and...would have killed
Peter if you could."

"I can't find my way."

"Lost?"

"I can't move...move..."

"Tyler be gone from the Underground House, from here, go...move on."

"I have to be taken. It's too far. I can't fly. I can't even float. I'm
dead, Chase, dead."

"Oh my God. He has to...he has to take you or..."

"Chase, help me..."

"I can't!"  I screamed and woke up and the figure of Tyler was there at
the foot of the bed, looking...forlorn. Not scary. Not menacing. Just
sad. "I can't," I said more calmly. "Only he can and he...he won't."

"You must help him to...but it's already too late..."

"There's someone else in here with you, isn't there?"

"Chase, be warned...you are in danger if Peter...."

"Peter? Where are you?"   I threw off the tiger bed coverings..not real
tiger mind you but a fake one, just the pattern on the bedspreads. I was
nude. I panicked. I fell back asleep....I wanted to fly out and into the
night sky to find Peter and the Lost Boys...but...

And then IT happened. It began like any other day...with...

...with the alarm sounding off. I thought I had switched it to sound like
a running brook of water, which gradually grew louder and louder,
assuring that it would wake the sleeper. Sleeper, that's me. "Chase, get
up you are going to be late for school..."

Mom's voice. She's up? At 6 o'clock am? School. Yuck, work, where I
worked. I drew my weary body to sleep a few more moments before I heard
her voice again. Then I dragged my ass out of bed. My eyes hurt. Not
enough sleep. Too much reading at night again.  You know that vague
feeling that you had a dream or a nightmare? I have that. The dream
was...oh it was so clear when I had it. If only I had written it down
when I first awoke...well, I'm not really awake yet, not fully so maybe
the last vestiges are hanging around me still. I looked out the window.
Another dreary day on Long Island. It's mostly always wet, cold, and
overcast. I hate it here. I was in this nice place. Arizona? Sedona.
Grand Canyon. Bryce Canyon. Zion National Park. Some dam. A water side
hotel. A cruise. A river raft adventure. Flying in a helicopter over the
Grand Canyon. I loved it but I was alone. Of course, there was this 14
year old blond, tall, blue eyes. Innocent. Untouched by the ills most
teens on Long Island were. Yet he had another side: he was a hunter,
wrestler, all around sportsman...and a need for attention like any other
teenager at the beginnings of his teenhood. I loved swimming in the same
pool he was in but had to put an end to him jumping on me in the water,
splashingly trying to wrestle with my ass in the pool. No touching. I'm
friggin 36! Stay away. I wished I was 14 again. Wait. Wasn't I? Or was it
younger? Something's wrong...that nagging feeling at the back of your
mind? It's there again. And coming forward again. I had to take that damn
shower. I hate taking a shower before work. I always do though. It's just
the stress of time. Taking a shower slows you down and it is such a loss
of freedom to have to do it everyday. I hate work. I really do. It saps
your imagination to do the same thing every day. It saps your creativity.
Robs your freedom. And the adults. They get worse every year. As I grow
older along with them, no, wait...even the younger ones. They're worse:
they are out for themselves only, do what they want, collaborate with the
enemy and make themselves look good while trying to stab you in the back.
And the administrators? Don't get me started. The men want young girls
and give them preference every year while they get something from them
(you can guess what they get) and the women? The women want penises and
try to step on others while making nice nice with those who can get them
more power. I hate them. I hate them. Maybe I don't. Maybe I just hate
the way they act and the entire set up. If anyone really knew the back
workings of the education system they would probably revolt...or do what
most parents do---use the system for themselves against everyone else. In
other words they do what they have to do to get what they think is right
for their kids and fuck everyone else. It's demeaning,
demoralizing....guidance counselors? Psychologists? I supposed there are
good ones in other schools, not ours. They look for power and for ways
out of doing work. They know there are kids who need their help and they
look the other way and pass the kids off to the high school staff, in
other words just keeping kids for four years ready for the High School
staff to work on them. They make me sick. Maybe what they do makes me
sick. No, THEY make me sick.

This is the way I face every morning. Knowing I'm not perfect but that I
at least care about the students and my job. Knowing my own department
will do anything against me to get the spots they want, even though I'm
second from the top senior person. I...

What was that about a blond, redhead, brunette boy? Who can fly? Fly over
the Grand Canyon with me? No, that's not right. The dream was hanging
around me still?

And the parents. Oh my God. Now the ones who are my own nationality? For
the most part they love their kids. But some of them love their own
psyche more. They kind of, well, manipulate everyone, including their own
kids and our administrators to get their own way, moving kids' schedules
around, getting teachers fired, and basically running the district. They
so need therapy. And no one wants to tell them that. Of course there is a
positive side to this too. There are parents that relate to you and you
to them. That help you to keep moving ahead. Students who, while not
perfect, do appreciate you and what you do, even if they don't always
tell you directly. Parents who will go to bat for you. If not for them,
I'd be penniless and on the street. And parents, who even if they don't
agree with you, will sensibly communicate to you and discuss it without
trying to get you a whole lot of grief. And the very few administrators
who will understand your heart and realize you do everything for the good
of the students. But it's very hard.

Was that the nightmare? Wait. What was the dream? Was it my so called
life? Was it the flying boy? The Grand Canyon? The diseases of death to
my family? 9-11? Those fucking terrorists, they need to burn in hell
forever. I hate them. I hope they die over and over again, with not even
a tormentor or the presence of a devil to have them some hope of escaping
loneliness. They are cowards. They are stupid, believing in a religion
that rewards murder and killing. What is wrong with them and their
culture? It's wrong. Change it. It's old. Change it. Make it younger.
Look to the children before you brainwash them with your tie on bombs and
stupid dogma. Bite me. On the other hand, bite yourselves in the vein on
your neck that will result in death. There should be someone like THE
EQUALIZER or Charles Bronson or that dude Clint Eastwood to shoot your
asses before you kill innocent people again. A person who with swords in
hand could do in the haters. Pet...I hate religion, I hate politics, I
hate that other countries try to use us and then abuse us. Don't want us
helping out your country after a devastating tsunami? No problem, if I
were President, I'd leave to you to your own clean up. Starving? If your
people are under a Stalin like government, no problem for me. Why would I
want to feed a country of people who will grow up to nuke me or go to war
against me or fly planes into my buildings and kill me and people I love?
Fuck you all! And for those who follow the religious war or whatever, the
stupid religious tyrants who hide in caves and holes in the ground--fuck
you too. You guys grew up under democratic comforts and then you turn
around and hate the very democratic government that helped you get all
that. And yeah, helped you figure out how to transform your savage,
backward country from worshiping cows while your people starve to make
that oil that you didn't even know was there into the refined stuff that
you say we war on you for. Well, if we helped you find it, refine it, and
use it, then I think we are entitled to it too! Not to think that I don't
think our own leaders are lying to us. They have much to answer for and
yeah they manipulate us too, they suck too. Don't think FDR didn't know
about Pearl Harbor? Sure he did. Don't think our own leaders, current and
near past knew about the attacks coming ? Sure they did. They wanted it
to happen so they could do their own thing in the Mid East with impunity.
Well, I hope it's worth what they get in the long run, too.

This all went through my mind. My goodness. I'm ready to eat breakfast
already. I can't recall actually dressing or brushing my teeth, blow
drying my hair, or shaving, in that order or not. I hate doing all those
things. I pray that when I pass on to the other life, that I will never
ever have to do those things again. And throw into that mix never having
to eat, go to the bathroom, clean my room....Peter says I don't have to
do those things now but...Peter?

Someone was playing with my mind again. Hook? No, he's long dead. Seth?
Can't be, he's human. Tyler? Maybe. Good choice? Perhaps he is a ghost
and wants revenge. I awoke, flew out into the night rain. It was a heavy
downpour. I was yelling for him. For Peter. I lost my voice. I lost my
power to ...fly.

I woke up in a wormy muddy hole. Around me were dirt walls, circular. I
was in a type of mud made natural hole in the ground. And the water was
rising around me. It was at my ankles. I tried to fly but my feet stuck
in the mud. I splashed my fists down in anger. "When I find out who's
doing this to me and why!"   I tried to fly again but my mood kept me
down. I felt panicky and knew that if Peter were on some adventure, it
would, could last a week or a month or a short minute. There was no
telling how log it would interest him or how many adventures he and the
others would have on their way to and from this adventure they might have
been on, if they were even together. Peter could and would forget me. I
gulped. I looked up and tried to climb from the pit but the mud was just
too dripping. I couldn't find a place to put my hands. They sunk into the
mud walls and more mud splashed down from the sides onto my feet. I hate
mud. I sometimes like rain but on Long Island there was just too much of
it. The sun of Neverland had been too good to us lately. Now this. A
torrent. I felt water going into my nose, wind taking it down my throat
when I gulped for air as my nose felt clogged. I was would drown standing
up and then get buried in water and dirt and mud. Closing around me. And
Peter would never find me, never even knowing I was there in the first
place or the fist place. Whatever. I shrugged. It was great while it
lasted. I did Peter wrong. He did me wrong. Like I said, that was part of
it all, it was great. I loved consoling him. Having him try to console
me. If it ended this way, well, I guess I could live or rather die with
that as the case may be, it would be die with that. I loved him. As he
was. I gave up trying to understand him. Appreciated him. He was Peter,
the death giver, the life bringer, the heaven taker. The swords boy of
Neverland and anywhere else for that matter. If he forgot me, he forgot
me. That's part of what I loved about him. I used to hate that. I used to
be so alone. I was alone now. It's not so bad. I wondered if the others
in the real world, my family, friends, I wonder if they remembered me, if
they were still alive. I wondered how much time passed out there. While I
remained young. I hated when there were those who used to try, in books
and TV and movies and stuff, dish out that staying young forever would be
a curse. It wasn't. Not really. It was great. But I sometimes did feel a
desire to move on with life. So Did Peter but he'd never admit that.

"Peter, where are you? Come to me, come to me!"  How did I get here? Did
I fall from the cloud covered sky? Did someone throw me in here? I knew
he'd come. Of course he would come. I got hard just thinking about him
saving me again.  "Peter, I know you will come to me."

"No, he won't. He's already forgotten you as you knew he would."

Above me there was some voice attached to some villain. Again. Sigh,
won't they ever leave us alone? "Won't you ever leave us alone? Just
leave us in peace! I don't even care who or what you are, just leave us
alone, leave Peter, me and the Lost Boys in peace. Specially Peter, he's
been through enough violence...leave him in peace!"

"PEACE! AFTER WHAT HE DID TO ME? I shall do to him what he has done to
me. I shall cut him off. I shall cut it off him! The way he cut it off
me! I shall slay him by first slaying the things he loves, starting with
the one thing he loves, the only thing he loves!"

"You're not making any sense!"   I called upward to the vast figure
overhead. I couldn't see as the rain poured down onto my face, filling my
eyes. "You're rambling! Who are you?"

I could almost make out  a heavy body above me. I still could not see the
face, the features. And the body didn't look familiar, although parts of
it did. But it couldn't be. Peter cut off his arms. Standing over me,
spread eagled across the pit lip, not much in between those legs. He must
have a little dick for a Viking...or for a man or anyone for that
matter...was the Viking leader who had taken over for the slain
Acun...Graham! My eyes cleared somewhat. And I could see it was Graham.
Peter cut off his arms but there, amid the mist that filled my vision, I
noticed there were some...some things that were where his arms should be.
He had arms, he had hands. Well one of those hands looked like it was
side sharing with a large wooden handle attached to a giant metal axe.
And the other hand had a sword in it and the arm seemed...wooden or
plastic. I still couldn't see up at the figure. "Graham!"

"Yes I'm back and Peter shall suffer for a long time, grow old with his
pain and die!"

The rain washed away any more views I had of this returned Viking
villain! I began to despair and knew Peter would not come....My tears
mixed with the rain....the massive body of Graham was gone...off to do
some mischief to Peter....and the others...


to be continued...


PeterPan, Tink, and Capt Hook are trademarks of  JM Barrie, not me. Chase
and the new Lost Boys are mine however but I don't really care about any
of that but others do so here you go. :) No copyright infringment is
meant.