Who says you can’t farm in the winter? I just grew a crop of chickweed! Ok, for real tho - this was not intentional. I eat for chickweed from my backyard throughout the year to keep the population down. I don’t feel the need to exterminate this nutrition powerhouse with any “-cide”. This past winter, some seeds made under the garden box covering and exploded in growth. We can’t eat all of this, so instead, the weed honorably fulfilled its namesake as fodder for the flock. Coming out of the winter blues, the hens feasted like maniacs. They cleaned out the box and left the overwintered garlic bulbs unscathed. Commander Comet seems pleased by the efforts of her flock and I am delighted they saved me time from manual weeding and money on feed.
Summary: A fic based on the song Lost Boy by Ruth B. Basically, Dan’s depressed and addicted to weed and Phil- coincidentally, Phil’s depressed and addicted to weed and Dan.
TW: Charactor death- tons of it. drug use and depression
I remember back when I had no one and nothing. Sometimes, I think it was better that way. My family didn’t care about me and I was constantly mocked. They called me the lost boy.
“Run! Run lost boy!” They’d say while chasing after me. “I hope you get hit by a car! You’d be better off dead,” they’d yell after me while I ran across the street. I ran into the woods, with tears blinding my eyes and I sat there on a log once I got deep enough in. One day, however, I saw a shadow. And then a figure. He had a beautiful smile and the bluest eyes and the blackest hair.
“Hey there, lost boy,” he’d said with that warm smile on his face. How’d he know that’s what they called me? I never bothered to ask. He sat next to me, with that warm smile and pulled out a bowl and a bag of weed. I’d never done drugs before, but at that moment when he offered, I just didn’t see the point in saying no. He showed me how to use it, even blew some smoke in my face when I couldn’t get the lighter to work. I was able to get it working and I inhaled deeply, holding it in for a few seconds before I coughed it out. He seemed to know exactly what to do though, and handed me a bottle of water. We went on like this for a little bit before I started to feel my senses numb and I was giggling for no damn reason.
Everything was a haze and I lived it. I didn’t care about anything but what was going on in that moment. We were giggling and hanging on to each other. At one point, we even ended up kissing. I didn’t know who this sweet smiled stranger was, and frankly, I didn’t care. We ended up in meadow filled with sunflowers taller than us. We swayed through them and giggled and ran and fell. We kissed again and it was then that I knew I wanted to feel like that all the time. We lied there for hours, and then I felt it where off and I started to get tired.
I woke up with my head in the crook of his neck and the moon high up in the sky. Hours before had just been a blur and the black haired boy with, the drugs surprisingly, hadn’t left. But then again, he was sleeping too. I’d had felt a wave of despair flow through me and I wanted to cry. That euphoric feeling was gone and all I knew was that I wanted it back. Because then was the only time I’d felt carefree and almost happy. I felt a shuffling next to me and I pulled my black sweatshirt sleeves over my hand and wiped away the tears.
“Hey there lost boy,” he says, the same words as last night. I give him a weak smile and ask his name. He gave me a half smirk, “I’m tempted to say Peter Pan, as here I am, helping the lost boy,” he smiles and pauses, “but you can call me Phil.”
“Hi Phil, I’m Dan,” I said softly. Phil’s blue eyes twinkled in the moonlight and I swear, I’ve never seen a sight as beautiful as his face right then and there. Phil pushed my straightened hair back with a small smile before hopping up. I followed his action a moment after. “Are you leaving?”
“Afraid so, Lost Boy. I’ll see you another time,” he answered.
I’ve gone back every single day after that. Sometimes Phil was there, other times he was no where to be found.
A month later I was still getting chased and beat and slurred at. “Go kill yourself!” They’d say. “Run, Lost Boy, but your problems won’t be solved like that!” Those are the times I’d run straight to the woods, praying that Phil was there. We’d hadn’t gotten together ‘officially’, but we’d get high together and sometimes make out. Phil in a way, is Peter Pan. He saves me from the villains and takes me to Neverland. I’ve started smoking weed almost every single day. It may be an addiction, but Neverland is where I belong. It’s where I feel free. Neverland is where I’m happy and where I’m supposed to be. Everything is so hazy and warm there. Phil’s there with me. It’s so comforting and so calm. Out here it’s ruckus. Out here I don’t know how to be calm, or how to think. I don’t know how to feel okay in this world. Neverland is my safe haven an I’m okay with that.
I don’t know who I am. How am I supposed to live normally. I’ve started getting it on my own for the days that Phil wasn’t in the woods. When he was, it made the experience ten times better. I went today and he was there, sitting on the log already smoking. I sit next to him and he passes the bowl and lighter to me and I light it. After about five minutes of passing back and forth I started to feel it. I rested my head in Phil’s shoulder and sighed. I felt like I was floating. “Hey Phil?” I asked.
“Do you ever want to fly away from the town? Like, just go. Leave and fly away, cause I do.” Phil turned to me sighed. His blue eyes were hazed and bloodshot. There was a small smile on his pink lips.
“Yea, all the time.”
Moments later we were kissing. Soft gentle pecks were being placed down my neck as I sighed an let out little whimpers. I looked up at Phil and his eyes mesmerized me like they always do. I think I’ve fallen for the black haired boy that calls himself my Peter Pan. I grabbed his hand and we stumbled along to our meadow. I pull him down on top of me, not breaking the kiss. His hands were up my shirt now, feeling their way along my chest. I sighed in content as he moved back down to my neck, sucking softly in a way that makes my breath stutter. He pulled my shirt off looking in my eyes as if to make sure it were okay. The look on my face must have been enough because he leaned down and started kissing along my chest while leaving hickies here and there.
It’d progressed in a hazy blur of moans and kisses. The feeling was almost as euphoric as my high. I remember how black his eyes had gotten and the way he carefully handled my body. I was a broken record, letting out stuttered moans and “Fuck, please don’t stop.” I’d woken up later, under the moonlight and thousands of stars. It’d taken me a moment to process what I’d had done and I sure as hell didn’t regret it. Phil’s larger body was still lying next to mine. His chest was pale white under the moon and his face looked screwed up in pain. I’d always thought that people were supposed to look content and happy in their sleep. Phil had shown me different. He looked so scared in his sleep. I wanted to protect him, but how could I help somebody when I needed all of the protection I could get.
I got up, sober unfortunately, and looked up at the sky. It was one of the most beautiful things. Normally when I’m sober I get this crushing dread of despair throughout my waking hours. Right now, however, I felt okay for once. I was content and I wished I could feel like this forever. The sunflowers were stretched over my head and the wind was blowing slightly. Fireflies were soaring through the night and I felt like I could breathe. This is the best I felt in so long. I silently thank Phil for this moment, every day.
I head home in the warm, breezy night and trudge up my room, not bothering to keep silent; it’s not like my mum would care either way. As I head into the bathroom to shower I get a dull look of myself in the mirror wearing nothing but my boxers. I haven’t looked at myself in so long that my appearance scared me a little. My hair was curled up against my shoulders and my brown eyes were slightly red and bruised at the bottom with bags. My skinny frame was even more lanky, you could see my ribs slightly. I looked tired and scared and sad. My skin was paler with a slight flush at the cheeks. It was disgusting. Everything about myself disgusted me. What have I done to myself? Why can’t I just be okay?
I strip myself completely plagued with these thoughts and jump into the shower. I cleaned myself, but I wasn’t actually clean. I was dirty. I’ll always be dirty. The hot water cascaded down my back and for the first time in weeks, I cry. I cry because I can’t feel that contentment I had earlier. I cry because I’m so scared for myself, but I can’t find the energy to care. I cry because I don’t know what I had with Phil, just that I lost my virginity to him. I cry because I’m scared.
I slept three hours that night. The next day I headed to school slightly high. The day was a daze and I probably failed my Chemistry test; but who cares really? I went to the woods that day to see Phil. He was sitting on the log sober as ever. I was tired but still a little high.
“Hey,” I said in a croaked voice. He was wearing a green tee shirt with black skinny jeans. His hair was messy and his eyes were tired. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Phil kissed my forehead with a smile on his lips.
“Hey Lost Boy,” he stuck with that nickname. His voice was soft and deep. It rolled smoothly. We’re hardly ever sober together. Even though I still had some in my system, my mind felt clearer than usual. I didn’t know how to act but somehow it still felt comfortable. After a short silence, we talked. We had an actual conversation.
We talked about food and music and colours. We talked about life and the universe. He asked me why I smoked so much; why I was so damn sad. “Because I’m a Lost Boy,” I’d said. “Because I don’t really matter, and when I’m high, nothing matters. I don’t care that no one else does.” I asked Phil why he smoked. He shrugged.
“Because I need to feel something other than sadness,” I didn’t ask him to explain, but hell I wanted to. I wanted to know everything I could about him. I’ve given so many confessions while in that daze. Phil would listen silently, never really talking. I’ve come to realize how much I depended on my Peter Pan.
Two months later and I wish I’d asked Phil to explain. We spent the day together. After that one day o so many weeks ago, we’ve actually spent time sober together, rarely, but we did. I realized, I could only be sober when I’m with him. I remember that day together. Phil was wearing I black tee shirt and black skinny jeans. We spent that day in the meadow. We kissed and hugged and smiled. He told me he loved me that day while we were laying on the ground. I turned to him and smiled. I kissed him and told him I loved him too. I told him I loved him more than the moon loved the sun. I told him I loved him more than astronomers love the stars. I told him I loved him more than Peter Pan loved being young.
We didn’t get high that day, I’m kind o glad we didn’t because I wanted to remember it, every last bit. We stayed until late at night. He told me how much he loved the stars and the moon. He told me how he wished he was a star, how he wished he could shine and sparkle. I told him he was the brightest thing in me life. He chuckled and said how he’s no star, but the sky that the stars shine in. He told me I’m the star. I’m the star that kept his sky dim. He said I had kept him from the black hole for so long.
I told him he was my sun. I told him without his shine, I’d be nothing but a black abyss. I told him how close to the black hole I truly am, but how bright he has kept me. He smiled softly.
“The thing is, stars die out. They burn up for so long and then one day, they explode. All stars die. Some sooner than others. I might be a star, but I’ve shown for a long time and I think I just might die out soon.” When he said that, I was left speechless.
I kept quiet. I didn’t say anything about stars anymore. I sighed and kissed him. We lie next to each other with my head in the crook of his neck and his breathing coming out soft and shallow. I mumbled I love you into his neck until I feel asleep. I woke up at the break of dawn and he was nowhere to be found. I trudged home. I threw myself into my bed and cried into my pillow.
The next day I went bag to our log. He wasn’t there. I knew h wouldn’t be. I went to our meadow. He was laying there with his eyes wide open an skin paler than I’ve ever seen. His mouth was slightly open and his body was spread out. I sat next to him and cried. I cried next to his body. I cried because there was a crumpled up note in his hand for me. I cried because I knew he would do it and I knew he wasn’t okay. I fell in love with the sun and like all stars do, he died.
The thing about life is we need the sun to sustain our warmth. We need the sun because without it all life would die without it. The sun is what keeps all living organisms alive. When the sun dies, so do the things it was keeping alive