Based on the movie (which I loved), though disregards the last 15 seconds when Wendy says Peter never returned, because... um... I want to. Thanks to the wonderful reviewer Elventeen, I have a link to a website that has the actual story Peter Pan. It's www(dot)literatureproject(dot)com/peter-pan/index(dot)htm if you want to check it out.
Author's Note: The hardest story for me to ever finish. Man. If anyone's still reading this thing... thank you. Thank you to all the terrific people who have kept reviewing even though I didn't update for almost three years. My life has been rather hectic over the past year or two. I got married, I started going back to school, and I just had a baby. Every time I tried to get this going again, I just couldn't get into it. I have been working on the ending for the past six months or so. The last two chapters are in the second draft stage and absolutely WILL BE DONE by next Friday. I hope it satisfies all the people who have been waiting four years for the completion. Cheers.
I have gone back through this story and done some minor editing, spelling corrections and the like mostly, but there are a few very minor story additions, most you probably wouldn't catch even if you reread this whole thing. Be that as it may, I would still recommend that you start from the beginning. At the very least, reread Chapter 19, as I did some pretty extensive adding to that one.
(To the one guy who thought it would be neat if they were writing a review to a dead person: Sorry to disappoint.)
(Oh yeah. You triplets are weird. In a good way. I'm not sure I even believe your comments—I'm thinking you're just one person--but they really entertained me anyway. Thanks. :)
"Peter," Wendy whispered sadly, lowering herself into her window seat. It was evening in the Darling household and Wendy knew her father would be downstairs reading the paper beside the fireplace; her mother would be seated near him, working on needlepoint; and her brothers, along with the Lost Boys, were preparing for bed in the nursery. But Wendy... Wendy was in the one place she had been every night for the past three years: Seated in the window seat with the window flung wide open, staring up into the darkening sky as stars appeared one by one, and waiting. For, you see, it was the eve before Wendy's sixteenth birthday, and she was waiting for Peter Pan.
Wendy, Peter thought dimly. Wendy would know what was happening to him. Wendy would understand. Wendy could explain why everything that had once been stable, and dependable, and reliable, had been crumbling into nothing in the time she'd been gone. Why was he growing? Why was Neverland getting smaller? Why wasn't he forgetting?
Wendy, he knew, could solve everything.