Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
When Peter Pan’s slight body washed up on the shore like lazy driftwood, the moon was high up above, casting a milky, ethereal light down on his pale, naked form. Judging by the little bloody nicks dotting his skin, the fairies would only be taunted for so long before showing their displeasure. Lord only knew what Pan had done or said to the little mites to make them this mad, to make them turn on him. Fairies only harboured one single emotion at a given moment, and if that emotion was selfish - destructive, violent, perverse - then there was no reasoning with them. Hook knew this all too well. He had heard the Chinese whispers of Pan’s whereabouts from his sea dogs, before interpreting it into truth and ordering them back to their cabins. The ‘rescue’ was an enterprise designed solely for him, one he had been dreaming about for countless years. He wanted no distractions. He wanted to relish this. He wanted this moment all to himself. “What ho, Pan?” Hook growled, looming over the boy’s frame. “So you finally got a taste of your own medicine, eh?” To his dismay, Hook’s shadow - vile, treacherous thing that it was - opened its arms and covered the boy’s limp body like a black shroud. Many things on the island became twisted and warped in the murk of the moonlight, many inanimate objects and lurking shadows took on a life of their own in the dipping dance of the restless clouds and stars above. Hook cringed and backed off a little, further up the beach, so that his shadow didn’t caress Pan’s careless sprawl any more. The tide pushed in smoothly like a ghostly lover, lap after lap, kissing Pans ankles, then shins, then thighs. In under an hour the water would swallow him completely, Hook knew. What sweet justice that would be! Hook located a nearby rock and settled himself upon it. He pulled out a leather pouch and proceeded to chew on a dusky pinch of tobacco - high quality stuff, that, and certainly not to be shared with his dogs! He waited, waited for that moment when he would see Pan’s mouth open wide to draw in breath but find only salt water as his salvation. Waiting for the moment when the relentless, blinding spark of the boy’s soul would be snubbed out candle-wick quick, like a moth caught between the fingers and then squeezed to powder… Black water smudged up Pan’s arms to the shoulder, before drifting back down the beach, washing through his small toes. Hook spat a hot brown mouthful of tobacco on the sand and got to his feet. “Damn you to hell and back, boy,” he snarled, curling his good hand under a cold armpit and pulling on the thin, bony body. He dragged the boy a little way up the beach, leaving the ravenous tide behind to grasp at nothing. “What use would you be as a bloated corpse beneath the waves?” Hook wondered aloud. God, what was he saying? The hour was beyond late, the moon ambling down in the sky, but the light still bathed Pan’s unconscious body, still made him appear silver-cream and oddly alluring in his peace. Hook couldn’t help but wonder what the island - what his life - would be like without Peter Pan. Things were already going to pot, if his own shadow betraying him was any indication. Maybe that was why he found himself weak. He didn’t care to think on it too thoroughly, lest he scare himself, lest he take himself up on the Jolly Roger and walk his own forsaken plank. No. For now, he would simply pick up Pan, sling the boy’s lame, rag-doll body over his shoulder, and head back to his ship, to his comfortable cabin. He could decide what to do with the boy later, after he was
conscious. ~fin~ |
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