Lit Neverland
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Clara Quillen
“You ready?” she asked, twisting the heel of her boot around in the damp sand. “Yeah,” Peter muttered, a forced smile flashing across his face, “Let’s go.” With a few running steps, the two of them lifted off the ground and climbed up into the clouds. Belle shot up from behind Peter and swooped through the air, leaving a trail of dust in her drift. The wind picked up, and Peter could hear her singing show-tunes while dancing in the breeze. He sighed. She was still new to the job; maybe this was just her way of coping. “Whadda we got tonight?” shouted Peter, now gliding alongside Belle. “Toby Marcos. Eight years old. Osteosarcoma in the left femur.” “How long?” “We’ll get there just before.” They flew over a few towns before stopping in the center of an old, rural neighborhood just south of the Canadian border. Together the two of them trudged silently down a vacant road and into a driveway belonging to the family of Toby Marcos. “I thought you said he had osteosarcoma.” Peter whispered. He had been expecting a hospital, or at least some sort of specialty facility. “Yeah. They caught it late. Decided to keep him home.” “That’s better, I guess.” Belle shrugged in agreement and began to drift up to Toby’s window. “Wait,” Peter protested, grabbing his partner’s arm and planting her back on the ground, “You can’t do this the way you did it last time. These kids are scared as it is. They’re confused. You can’t be so coarse with them.” Belle groaned, “The kid wouldn’t stop crying. It was annoying.” “Belle, she had just been--never mind.” Peter sighed and let go of her arm. “Just, let me do the talking, okay?” The latch on the window was unlocked, and the two of them hovered into the room with the sleeping child. An IV drip hung over his bed and a wheelchair was parked by the night-side table. A woman lay sprawled on a ragged sofa bed off in the corner of the room. That would make things a bit more difficult when the time for departure came. Belle noticed too. 2
Emma Firzgerald Art
Peter stood silently on the beach, his arms folded tightly across his chest and the hood of his green leather jacket draped over his head. Belle walked up behind him and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Should we move her?” She suggested, gesturing towards the woman. Peter shook his head, “No, we better not.” This part, the waiting part, was always Peter’s least favorite. Standing around and waiting for a child to die, and knowing there’s nothing that can be done, is an awful feeling. Especially for an angel. “How much longer?” “Not much.” Belle seemed more agitated than anything. She took off the glasses that Peter insisted she wear and revealed her eyes, which were so black they made even the darkest pits seem sunny. Belle fidgeted with the glasses until Peter’s disapproving stare told her to replace them. The strangest thing about all this was, even after being cast out from heaven, Belle did still care. She didn’t care in quite the same way that an angel might, but she was here, wasn’t she? Any other demon would have scoffed at the thought of it, but here Belle was, holding children’s hands on their way to the afterlife; children who would go on to watch over their parents from heaven; children who would never grow up; children who would be lost forever. The boy whimpered, and both Peter and Belle knew it was time. Peter walked over to Toby and lay a hand down on the child’s chest. Slowly his breathing became more and more shallow, and then stopped all together. The heartbeat beneath Peter’s palm faded away, taking with it the last bit of color from the boy’s pale face. From behind him, Peter heard a faint gasp. Squeezing his fists together he forced a smile and turned around. “Hello, Toby Marcus.” He said, “My name is Peter Pan. Do you wanna go on an adventure?”
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