Peter Pan sits, waiting, watching the sea, the clouds.
Remembering flying through said clouds. Remembering the laughter, the sun, the excitement.
He stands up, turns and walks back into the forest, back to his hideout, his home. His empty home.
Lying on his big bed, remembering how long it would take sometimes to get everyone to sleep, how they'd love to bounce on it for hours.
He lays there, not bouncing.
Until, suddenly, he props himself up. He looks as the small glass revolving globe he'd found once upon a time. He walks over to it and stares at it. Suddenly he slaps it. It spins wildly, the frosted glass countries and perfectly shiny clear glass oceans blending together in an almost blindingly fuzzy whiteness.
Peter watches it. Thinking about all the havoc that world caused. That had he just stayed in Neverland, he'd never of felt this pain.
Blinking rapidly, he clenches his right fist. Then, with jerky fast movements, he stabs the globe with his left pointer finger. It stops spinning, the base shaking slightly.
He looks at the landmass his finger landed on. A giant landmass, labeled "United States of America." Next to his finger, he reads "the Great Lakes."
Peter hums.
For the first time in a long long time.
He leans back, rocking on his heels.
And for the first time in a long long time, he no longer feels so lost.