Lost Boy

by Christina Henry

I wondered if that were better, to die before I became something withered and grey and not wanted.

Then he smiled, and oh, that smile. It was that smile that had stolen me away from the Other Place, the smile that made me want to do anything for him.

Was this, I wondered, what it felt like to be a grown-up? Did you always feel the weight of things on you, your cares pressing you down like a burden you could never shake? No wonder Peter could fly. He had no worries to weight him to the earth.

I think I fell in love with her then, when she pretended that everything was just the same as it had always been.

“This isn’t a wonderful place for boys to play and have adventures and stay young for always. It’s a killing place, and we’re all just soldiers in Peter’s war.”

All children grow up, or they die, or both. All children, except one.

Was this, too, part of growing up? Was it facing the bad things you’d done as well as the good, and knowing all your mistakes had consequences?

“It’s not such a wonderful thing, to be young,” I said. “It’s heartless, and selfish.” “But, oh, so free,” Nod said sadly. “So free when you have no worries or cares.”