My Lovely Wendy Darling Savannah Hardy ’25
Once upon a time, there lived a girl who loved the little things in life. She enjoyed reading the books others overlooked and the smell of freshly cut grass on a summer’s morning. She was an unconventional girl, but was loved by all. Looking back, I understand why she was named that; it fits her perfectly: Wendy Darling. Wendy Darling was a young girl with beautiful golden brown hair. Nevermind that, I will just tell you the story from the beginning. Wendy Darling lived in the povertystricken part of London, the part where even the rats don’t live; where the air is so bad only the buzzards fly; where the streets are filled with residue and rubbish. Oddly, she was content with her life. She knew that her family could not afford to move to the wealthy part where the kids were not afraid to walk the streets at night. Those children had it all: the money, the toys, the cars, and even a safe place to call home. She lived with her two younger brothers and her mother while her father went off with another woman in search of a
better life for himself. I think that’s why when we came, she followed us without a second thought. It was a cold October night; the wind howled like the sun would not rise tomorrow. We came for her, to take her to a warm and magical place: Neverland. A place where mermaids swim in the shallow blue waters, where the lost boys climb in the trees, and where the fairies live in the oddly shaped trees. It started as just an escape for a night from the poverty at Wendy’s house, but it turned into something more than that. I had originally only gone because I could fly, but as time went on I started seeing past the dirt and grime that covered Wendy Darling. Eventually I flew the great distance for her. My hostility started to fade into genuine friendship, which slowly turned into an authentic connection. That is when I realized I had started to fall in love with sweet, delightful Wendy Darling. If only she had chosen me instead of Peter, but I should have expected it because who would ever love a fairy anyway.
The Publication of the Arts
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