Peter Pan and the Lost Sample Chapter 3

His feet dangled far above the rocky valley. All he had with him was a fishing rod and an urge to find a Rockabye Baby. He knew they only came out of the rockswhen no one was around, and when enticed with a tasty treat of worms.

Even though his fishing spot was perfect, Rockabye Babies still took a long time to consider if they were really that hungry, so he started to stare up at his surroundings. The high winds blew his curly hair all over the place as the sky lit up in a bright blue accompanied on one side by a sun with a far happier shade of yellow. Huge mountains peaked over the horizon, with a waterfall splitting in midair to two different pools below.

He knew he was somewhere new. All he knew was that he had been looking to find a way around the massive Kensington Gardens, to his favorite spot by the pond, without his foster parents finding him. Then he passed through a hole in the water and ended up near the massive valley.

At least no one else was around. He felt comfortable being alone, so he pulled down his pants and relaxed as his tail whipped out from below his back. It wasn’t as long as some animals have it, but it was as long as his arm and was even covered in red curly hair, like a fox’s. Yet it begun to feel uncomfortable winding it up underneath his pants, like a coiled spring, all of the time.

After tearing a hole in his khakis to let his extra limb move freely, he returned in time before his rod disappeared over the edge. He couldn’t believe his luck. He caught something! He really did it!

Foxtail, as he liked to call himself, began to fantasize what Rockabye Baby tasted like as he pulled against the rod. He knew that once the rockabye was released from the rocks it would all be over. It was the thrusting from the rock that would be the toughest. His thin arms ached as he struggled to pull it from the rocky floor below.

Soon afterward, he heard a crunching, grinding sound as he felt his efforts reward him all at once. The release of the Rockabye flung him far from the edge, sending him on his backside. His tail helped him stand up and bring his catch up the final hundred feet.

Boy this Rockabye Baby is heavy! I wonder how much they usually weigh.

 He couldn’t really estimate but by how much his arms strained to lift it up. Slowly he turned the taunt line through the rod and pulled it over the edge in a final push through the exhaustion. He lay down on the spot in exhaustion. Sweat ran down his oval face, passing grey eyes as he stared up into the sky, taking deep breaths of the Island’s air. The weather was perfect for impossibilities; not a breath of humidity could be felt as a cool breeze gently swooned over every living thing, as curious about the island’s various surfaces and life as Foxtail was.

He tended to his catch, which had landed belly-up, it’s tiny claw-like appendages waving helplessly in the air. He picked up the massive rock and looked it over. Aside from the claws, it had soft facial features, including small, beady eyes and a wide mouth sucking at the line that used to be occupied by worms.

As he examined it, he wondered how he could eat something like that. As he thought that, it’s massive tongue lapped out and slathered itself over his right forearm. He dropped it before he screamed in revoltion. He hated the feeling of a tongue on his skin. As it crawled away, he began panicking, throwing his arms wildly, his tail whipping the air around him. He knew this feeling too well, as well as what would help. He reached up to his head and twirled his index finger around a curl and pulled. A lock of hair fell out to his satisfaction as he felt his body calm down. He would never try to catch a Rockabye Baby again.

He was still hungry after all of that hard work. Thinking a rock would be tasty had clouded up his vision and stifled the growling of his stomach. He decided to follow wherever his feet took him and figure out what to do from there.

Dry wilderness turned to lush forests of palm, maple and oak trees. He climbed over the thick bushes overladen with creepers and vines, ignoring the rough surfaces that scrapped against the knees of his pants. As sweat trickled down his back, he rolled up his dress shirt and pulled apart the stupid tie he had to wear on Sundays. He even dared to unbutton the shirt and expose his small belly to the savory heat of the understory. He wasn’t even twelve, yet his prominent childhood belly had disappeared in place of a thin figure, with big legs for a child his age. Those same big legs were able to keep him quite literally on his feet as he traversed the terrain for some remnant of civilization.

       He thought about how he was going to make a signal fire when he found a massive tree in the middle of a gap. It was covered in wooden planks, like it was being kept in place by a desperate construction crew. Then he saw the dozens of rotting nooses dangling from above, one of which still had the remnants of a skeleton swaying in the wind. He didn’t even flinch; he just gulped loudly as he moved closer to the tree. It looked to be the only thing that had a touch of civilization for what felt like miles.

Then he saw a hole big enough to climb through. He hesitated for a bit, recalling the nooses hanging above the tree like some twisted decoration. But he saw how rotten they were, and assumed they were abandoned anyway, so he climbed inside.

What he found was unexpected and highly inviting. Piles of twigs and cut pieces of vine were strewn across the floor, as well as some apples, pears and bananas scattered on the big lump of fur in the corner. He slid down the rest of the way inside, flipped an apple up to himself and enjoyed his first meal since the mash he was forced to have that morning. As he crunched down on the apple, core and all, he looked around his new home. The sun was setting on the horizon, splashing bright orange light into the cool, dank hole underground.

The place smelled like freshly cut grass and something else… He couldn’t quite put a finger to the smell. Well, he was going to have to get used to it. As the sun set farther down, he thought to maybe set up a bed for himself. He grabbed some of the vines and twigs from a big pile on the floor and dragged them to a chosen corner of the underground room. He knew that he should build a fire to warm himself up should the weather get too cold outside, especially after finding a convenient fireplace carved out of the dirt and out to above ground. He began to pile up some big twigs and find a way to light it…

When he heard people coming! He even heard them!

Oh no! How in the world was he going to get out of this?!?

Before he could even think of a good explanation, he was met with three more pairs of eyes staring right at him, two confused and the other inquisitive of the other two. Peter, Buckeye and Lively caught Foxtail invading their home, his tail whipping around in utter panic.

“Hey, what’s that behind you?” The lanky, black haired boy pointed to his tail. Peter had been looking there already, and Lively’s attention was drawn to it. He thought something else was behind him, but it was just rock and dirt. They were asking about his tail.

“Oh,” he replied awkwardly, not even noticing that the other boy just spoke English.

“It’s my tail. I’ve had it since I was a baby.” He held it proudly in his hand, the tip fidgeting in his right hand. Peter was fascinated by it.

“It’s as red as your hair! Like a fox’s! You have a fox tail! How amazing!”

“Yeah…it is.” No one had ever told him that.

“That’s why I like the nickname my…friends gave me. Foxtail.”

“Foxtail? Sounds perfect!” The girl skipped up to him, matching him in height, her shirt mixed with ram skin and weaved grass, passing down to her knees. She seemed to like his new name as much as the others liked his tail.

“Who…Who are you three, anyway?” He began to feel uncomfortable as she stood eye to eye, nose to nose.

“We are the ones who live here,” She said matter-of-factly, “before you decided to crash in.” The girl spoke as she stayed right in front of him to get a long look with her big eyes and thin unibrow.

“I mean,” He relaxed as she turned away and leaped into a cross-legged seating at her own pile of leaves.

“What are your names? You already know mine.”

“Well,” Buckeye began, pointing to each of them as he listed their names.

“I’m Buckeye,” He pointed to himself,

“She’s Lively,” She waved her right hand violently at him,

“And this is Peter,” He stood there gallantly posing for his own portrait.

“Don’t forget my last name, of course”, Peter said. He turned to the small, lanky, red-haired, tail-having boy in front of him and finished his name.

“Peter Pan is my name.”

Peter Pan? I know that name from somewhere…

Yet he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, and wouldn’t even care to, especially after the rumpus they had that night. They shared uncountable stories and jokes with him and not only accepted him as one of their own, but dragged him out of the burrow into more adventures in the pitch black forest, lit by two moons and a million stars. Thus was the beginning of his new life as a member of the family of Pan, a part of the Lost that never wanted to be found.