The day that Peter Pan stopped flying was a tragic day, indeed. It was after Wendy left.
For the first week, Peter managed to distract himself by playing his panflute and playing with Tiger Lily and playing games with the Lost Boys. But there was only so many things a boy could do to distract himself from a girl. Certain places would remind him of her; the sirens’ songs would remind him of her lullabies; and often the clouds in the sky would shape into the same blue bow that she once wore in her hair. He missed her terribly.
But she grew up. She made her choice. She left him.
He didn’t need her
because she didn’t need him.
But he could only believe that for so long before he began to think about her every night after night, after every dream of her in her room, growing up.
Growing up and forgetting about him.
The thoughts consumed Peter’s mind; there was only so much a boy like him could take. He isolated himself from the Lost Boys, granting them the freedom to do whatever they please as long as they left him alone. Even Tinker Bell failed to comfort him.
Weeks passed by,
It felt like an eternity, but what was time to the Boy who never grew up?
Time was his enemy. And over time, Peter was reduced from flying to gliding to floating to barely drifting off the ground. He was on his way to Skull Rock but his happy thoughts couldn’t take him that far so he landed near the Mermaids’ Lagoon. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe they would sing him to sleep and he would dream and wake up and Wendy would be there with him again. But that was not the case. It was never the case.
She was never coming back.
So Peter sat in the sand, removing his shoes and letting the water touch his feet before retreating back to the lagoon and leaving his feet cold and bare to the cool air.
It was awfully lonely and he wished for a friend.