literature

I Hate you Wendy Darling

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I hate you, Wendy Darling.
I hate the way that you drew me to you, with your stories. The stories of faith and trust and pixie dust. The stories of good triumphing over evil. The stories that would raise hope in the most hopeless of children. The stories are as evil, are as much of a trap as anything Hook and his entire band of pirates could come up with in ten lifetimes. The only difference is that this trap looks, feels, sounds, tastes so good that it is impossible to resist. Not just for me, for all the boys.
No. Actually that is the excuse I used to keep coming back. Well, that and the fact that I like Hook getting defeated in as bloody a way as possible, even if it is just in a story.
I lost my shadow for you, Wendy. Although it was sort of fun, sneaking up on people (Hook, mostly) without my shadow giving me away, it did get rather tiresome, especially with Slightly rambling on about The Shadowless and how having no shadow was a sign of evil. I came very very close to stopping up his tree and leaving him outside the house for the pirates to find. But in a strange way, I felt almost glad. I had to get my shadow back, so I had to go back to your house.


I hate you, Wendy Darling.
I hate that you saw me crying, even though I never cry. I hate it that you had to ask me why I was crying, although it seemed fairly obvious to me. But I suppose you were nice enough to sew my shadow back on for me. That was a nice thing to do, even though I suppose it wasn’t especially for me. You would do it for anybody, if they asked nicely, or if you liked them well enough. Maybe that is partly why I kept coming back. It’s probably because I have never known a girl (since they’re clever enough to keep from falling out of their prams, or possibly since nurses take better care of girls than of boys) and from what I could see, a girl is a lot more useful, and a lot less of a liability (whatever that is; it’s one of Slightly’s words) than a boy. I knew that I wanted you to come with me there and then. I taught you to fly. I even taught your brothers because you asked me to. We were all set to go. But then you had to hesitate and spoil it.


I hate you, Wendy Darling.
Why did you have to think of Them? Your parents. The people who lie, and cheat, and don’t keep promises.  The people who will forget you, and let another child sleep in your bed, without trying to find you. The people who claim to love you, but who can make your heart break without even saying anything. Why do you have to be so thoughtful of other people, Wendy? Why can’t you just think about what you want for yourself? It works for me. Kind of.


I hate you, Wendy Darling.
Why did you have to spoil the moment with asking me of feelings? You should know that I do not have feelings: that I am young, and carefree, and heartless. So why do I have all these feelings in my head? Anger…Sadness….Jealousy…and something else. I can’t tell what it is exactly, but it feels like someone has a hold on my heart, and is squeezing it hard. It feels quite pleasant, in a strange, painful way. I tried asking Tink if she has ever felt like that, and if she knows what it means, but she just called me a dumb ass and flew off.  Why do you make me feel like this, Wendy? Is it something you do for everybody? Or just for me?  A part of me hopes it is exclusive to me, like a secret that no one else can ever know. The other half is preying that you make everyone in the world, and the people in the worlds beyond it feel this way. That way, there might be someone who can understand how and why I am feeling this.


I hate you, Wendy Darling.
How could you sell us out to the pirates, as though we were criminals? After everything that stupid codfish and his band of miserable trout have done to me? To us? Wendy, He tried to kill us! To kill you! I know pirates fascinate you, but really! Must you trust everyone, just for the sake of seeing the good in people?  And then you had to say it, “I find Captain Hook to be a man of feeling.” He’s a man of feeling all right. A man full of malice, jealously, hatred. If that is what having feelings is, Wendy, then you can keep it. That, and being a man. I do not care if it makes me ungallant and deficient. I should rather die than to become like Hook in any way at all. To be that pathetic would surely kill me. When you told me that you were, in fact, Red-handed Jill, I wanted more than anything for you to suddenly laugh at my stupidity for falling for such a joke, to tell me that of course you would never become a pirate. But you didn’t. You betrayed me, Wendy.

I hate you, Wendy Darling.
When you kissed me. I knew. I knew what I’d been trying to suppress for so long. When you put your lips to mine, when you gave me what you’d wanted to give for such a long time. When you succumbed to your urge. You turned your back on me, but yet at the same time, moved closer to me than ever before. More so than the first time we met, more so than when we flew alongside each other. More so than when we danced in the moonlight, abandoning our hopes, and dreams and cares. Indeed, in this moment, fraught with danger, where either one of us could die at any second if Hook gave the order, we were truly one. And I will hold on to that moment, for it is all I have left of you.

I love you, Wendy Darling.
I wish you were here with me, telling me stories, and dancing, and flying, and being carefree and heartless. But you can never be again. Because you must grow up. And so I must forget you. For I can never do so. I would rather die than to grow up. It looks to be an awfully big adventure. But it is one that I am not yet brave enough to embark upon. Goodbye Wendy. Please know that I do not want it to be this way.

I love you, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. I will love you now, and I will love you after both our hearts stop beating. Goodnight Wendy.
A bittersweet little Peter Pan oneshot. It's based on the 2003 film, with elements of the book thrown in.
I would really like some critique on this. Reviews of any kind are also welcome.
© 2009 - 2024 Mad-Cow5678
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Arimus79's avatar
I love that movie that you based this piece on, and I truly love what you did here. The insight is wonderful and beautiful and sad.