I awoke early, long before the sun would rise. Perhaps weeks had passed, perhaps decades. In Neverland, time only matters if you have any intention of returning to the so-called world. Otherwise, it matters little more than gravity which, in a land where fairy dust and a happy thought can make you fly, is not an especially potent feature of interest.
What mattered, above all, was the Game.
I had led many a merry chase, occasionally with Peter, though often as not without him. Whilst we were content to capture (and be captured by) the Blackfoot, Peter played cat and mouse with people back in the world, though you couldn't say time mattered at all for him. He carried a piece of Neverland with him wherever he went.
Where we played Pirates and Lost Boys, sought treasure (that we ourselves had buried), sang songs with mermaids, and had many a fanciful adventure, Peter remained Pan. A trickster.
He became like a living legend, and although I had known him as a simple boy, he seemed now to have transcended his mean and humble beginnings. Unpredictable, and flighty as a feather, we never knew when he would appear and join our game, or conversely disappear and be distant in body and in mind.
Often, new boys would join our ranks, and we would initiate them with food fights around an imaginary dinner table, a cot in the trees, and a costume of some animal or another.
The Lost Boys were single-minded in their delinquency, always flouting the rules (which we encouraged), always up for some fun (which we applauded), always keen for mischief (which we honoured). And yet, like a flock of birds, when Peter did come, they followed him like good little soldiers into the breach.
Our war games with the Blackfoot were games, yes, but that did not preclude one from returning home with a skinned knee or a bruised eye, a swollen lip and a story to tell.
Once, when we were playing Pirates, we nearly drowned a few of them in a mass keel-hauling. If not for Tinker Bell, I think our game might have ended there, for it was never our intention to do true harm, but what can you expect when children are left to their own devices without adult supervision?
Indeed, we were dangerous. One need look no further than a game we used to play, a personal favourite of mine, one we called Mountain Goat Pass, in which... well, I suppose that one needs little explanation. It was frightfully detrimental to our health and let's leave it at that.
But no one had in fact died as a consequence of our careless and carefree nature.
We were, to put it plainly, unencumbered by worry and quite enjoyed the lawless life.
Not once did I... that is to say...
Well, actually if I'm being honest, there was one time, but it must be so long ago now, and I'm sure all's well that ends...
Well...
Really, it wasn't my intention to hurt anyone. Not really.
You see, there was a boy, one whom Peter clearly admired. Above the rest, it seemed at least to me, and this rankled for some reason, for I had always felt that while this was a place for miscreants, well, Peter and I were the first, and so...
Oh, it seems foolish when laid bare in a manner such as this. To strip away the ego and tell the story as it is, well I just feel ridiculous and unjustly cruel, an that's no error.
We made to play Lost Boys and Pirates, although with this lot there was little in the way of an actual legitimate plan of any sort. We simply aligned ourselves however we saw fit, with little regard for teams or equity of any kind. Often you might find twice as many boys in one camp as the other, if not more.
As it happened, I played the captain of the Pirates. Peter would have led the Lost Boys that day, but he tired of the Game. Perhaps because we outnumbered them three to one. In any case, Peter delegated his duty to a Lost Boy whom we called Badger, a handsome and charismatic youth that everyone respected.
Badger came to us long after the unwritten rules of Neverland had been established, but unlike the others he seemed naturally adept and endeared himself to us all. It was as though he knew the rules well even before he arrived, a dyed-in-the-wool rogue.
Always ready to deliver a good-natured ribbing, he was delightfully obnoxious.
Of course, Peter naturally chose him as his second in command, for he was a leader born for the sort of game we played. Of course, Peter had to choose someone, for he couldn't be bothered to play with us that day.
It wasn't that at all.
It was nothing more than the way he looked at Badger. He favoured him. Of course I felt threatened. Who then was this boy to garner such admiration from the Pan himself. I don't know when I started to see him as such, but I had. Slowly, by degrees.
Larger than life, Pan was a Prince of the Wild, Neverland's Noble son. We all looked up to him, and sought his praise. And this... upstart, well, he had Peter's eye. I was envious, but of course that is an understatement.
I resented the both of them deeply. And Badger became the focal point of my jealousy.
"Not joining our game today, eh Peter?" I teased. "Afraid you're no match for us with our superior numbers?"
"Jim, my boy, surely you can see the direction the winds are blowing. Badger here will make such short work of your Pirates, I dare say it shall be over too soon to pique my interest."
"Don't boast before the game is won, Peter."
"The game, Jim?" he smirked. "The game is won! A foregone conclusion, sadly. You simply lack foresight."
"Bold talk," I cautioned. "Pride before the fall."
"We shall see," he said, patronizing. "Good luck and all that."
In a winkling he had disappeared and we were left to our sport. But no sooner had Peter departed than Badger was proclaiming his greatness. And if that wasn't enough, he was doing so several inches off of the ground.
Had Tinker Bell dusted him with her fairy powder? Not that I had seen.
Had Peter Pan provided an allotment for the game? No, indeed he had not.
Then the fact remained, Peter had persuaded Tink to give Badger his own satchel for consumption. A permanent dose. A gift of such magnitude that I felt both deeply ashamed and utterly disregarded. Who deserved such a gift more than I? Surely not this apprentice. This amateur.
My blood boiled.
I gave a whistle and my Pirates melted into the bushes. The Lost Boys clamoured and then fell silent in the meadow we had just vacated, and from then the Game had begun.
Regrouping at the lagoon, I divided my crew into squadrons and gave them each their orders. They began to lay various traps throughout the forest while I buried the treasure.
This game was rather uncomplicated. Either they found the treasure, or we captured every last one of them. If we won, they had to walk the plank. If they won, they'd clap us in irons for a day and humiliate us with taunts.
Usually, this sort of competition was all in good fun. Sure, we might walk away with a lump on the crown or a bruise here and there, but when the sun went down we all feasted at the same table and bunked in the same tree. We were a family of sorts.
But on that day, the seeds of division were sown. And I, I was the gardener who planted those seeds.
Smee was with me, my second in command.
"A bunch of codswallop if you ask me, Captain," he said, derisive. "They're no match for No Beard the Pirate. The fiercest fighter, the boisterous brigand, the reviled rogue, the..."
"That will surely do, Smee. Have your men spread out in a line and lay in wait. Garn's men will run riot in the trees, loose and loud, and so drive the Lost Boys your way. Capture them with nets and snares. Bind and gag. Let's go to work."
But sir?" he interrupted. "What about Badger? Clever bit of magic, that. You reckon Tinker Bell is on their side?"
"Nay," I said. "It's of no concern. Leave that bragging blaggard to me."
"Too right, Cap'n."
And without another word he slipped silently away.
A short time after, I heard shouts and cries. My Pirates had begun driving the Lost Boys like hounds to the hunters. It was a rather transparent ruse, I know, but the Lost Boys could always be relied upon for their self-assured overconfidence. They most likely knew precisely what was going on, but welcomed the battle eagerly.
The next act would see Badger and a small band of rabble-rousers flanking my Pirates, stirring up a bit of chaos and confusion, and before long a melee would ensue. We would engage in a heated warfare, till either they had the treasure in their possession, or we had them in ours.
But this day was different. Whilst we had the numbers, Badger had the gift of flight. An advantage that I coveted greatly.
Knowing the capability of one's enemy is critical in battle, as I have discovered. And so the element of surprise became possible if one had the luxury of intelligence and the high ground. Physically if not morally.
I gathered a net and a sword, and climbed a tree near where I anticipated the battle would most likely be fought. Up, up I climbed, till the branches began to thin and I could climb no further without exposing my position.
Badger would command his men from the sky above, but if I could ascend to a greater height, then I would have a distinct advantage. And there I waited, silent as death, perceptive as a falcon watching out for a mouse far below.
Before long, the Lost Boys began to break cover, and Smee's crew had them. If Garn's boys were the tide, the Lost Boys were a wave, and Smee's crew was the reef. In a great tumult, they all met with clubs and swords held aloft, the cry of battle in their throats.
Almost on cue, another squad of Lost Boys attacked from the rear, and the whole lot of them digressed into utter calamity.
Above them all, hovering several feet over their heads, was Badger, calling out orders and guiding his army. And above him, I observed, biding my time till my Pirates nearly had the upper hand. As the tide turned once more, and the Lost Boys were on their heels, I leaned out and dropped from my perch, the net held before me, my sword in my teeth.
"Foxie, take your men around and help Skunk! Quickleeeaaahhh!"
I landed hard upon his back, dragging him down from the sky. Like Icarus after he flew too close to the sun, Badger plummeted, unable to free himself. Down, down we fell, till suddenly we landed, hard upon the ground.
I heard a loud snap, like a tree branch, and a sharp piercing cry.
"My arm!" he wailed, and all the boys stopped in the midst of the fray to see for themselves what had happened.
"I..." but I had no words. Had I meant to do him real harm? Did my avarice go so far? I cannot say, but I know some self-righteous part of me felt I had struck back at this usurper, this interloper, and by extension Peter Pan.
"Jim, what have you gone and done?" someone asked, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks that moments before had boiled in my veins.
Tinker Bell fluttered down to the crying child whom I had injured.
"Sleep now," she said, and I believe he fell into a hypnotic trance.
Her light dimmed a moment, and she began to sing. Mournful and somber, her song touched a nerve among our ranks so that nearly every boy I witnessed had tears perched precariously upon his cheek.
"Whisper to me of trouble and woe,
Of heartache and sorrow,
Lie da lie doe.
Take all your worries and bring them to me,
I'll sing a lullaby,
Tra la la lee."
As she sang, her light brightened till all of us shielded our eyes, and just like that it was over. The odd angle of his arm had been rectified, but sleeping he remained. Sensing that their eyes would soon turn to me, I slunk away into the concealment of the trees and ran as though the Devil himself were at my heels.
I ran till my lungs burned and my legs ached, and although several times I lost my footing and crashed hard upon the ground, skinning my knees and scuffing my hands, I got up and ran farther and farther till I reach the Mermaids' Cove at the far side of the island.
Once there, I did not cry, for I felt no remorse, only rage. I cannot say it was the honourable thing to do, but I cursed Peter Pan in my frustration for choosing another above me.
I pounded my fists into the sand, and growled in my anger till the Mermaids evacuated their rock and plunged into the water in fear.
There I lingered for some time, and did not return immediately to our encampment. Certainly not that night or the night after that.
In time, I would make things right, but there, in the privacy of the cove, I gave in to all of my more selfish thoughts. And despite the world of wonder to which I had immigrated, I was not satisfied.