The cold water beats a steady rhythm against my skin. Pounding like a drum. I rub my face, scratching away at the layer of dirt, dried blood, and scabbing on my face.

When the game ends, all the severe injuries go away.

Leaves and twigs fall down to my feet, slamming into the ground, weighed down by the water.

All severe injuries, except death.

I rake my hair backwards. It's a heavy weight, pounds upon pounds, pulling my head closer to the ground. Like a ball and chain. Like a death sentence.

He doesn't have time to heal minor things, so the cuts and bruises will fade hopefully.

I don't feel clean, I feel dirty. I grab my cloak and pull it into the water, watching all the blood pour off it, down on to my feet. Coating me like a thin layer of paint.

You are going to have a nasty scar on your face, and maybe along your arms, from snagging on twigs.

I have blood on my hands.

It doesn't look bad; it gives you character.

I pull the dagger out of the pocket.

Makes you finally look like one of us.

One of us.

A Lost Boy.

I grip my hair and in one swift movement, slice it off.

Lost Boys don't have long hair.

I tug and pull at my hair, cutting it until it is short. I doubt the cut looks nice, but it will at least look even in the back from beneath the hat.

You can hardly call yourself a New now, can you?

We stand above the holes in our cloaks. It doesn't rain in Neverland, not since I've been here at least, but the dark clouds rolling in above our heads make it look like it will.

I know four of the five people who are being buried today. I used buried loosely, since two of the bodies were unable to be recovered. I imagine that Samuel's charred ashes are long gone in the wind.

I also use the term loosely, because the bodies we did recover were sent out on a flaming barge.

I missed that procession. I wasn't in the mood to attend. The smell of burning corpses is fresh enough in my mind, I don't need to relive the Game.

I heard Lyle's body was sent out in a casket. To hide the hideous mangled face Gregory so kindly gave him.

I wonder if Lyle's parents know he's dead. Like a thick pain in their stomachs, that only can be attributed to parental instincts. The hope of saving him from a kidnapper, or finding him as a runaway suddenly gone.

I wonder if that's worse than them having hope he's coming home.

I don't know how long's it's been since he's last seen them; I lost count of the days. I do know, however, that they will never see his face again. Neither of them.

Another casket belongs to Caleb, the coma boy. Unfortunately he didn't make it on his own. Wilbur made his way back to camp yesterday. We had a search party and a casket ready for him too.

I never met the boy in the final casket. I don't think I even recognise his face. Apparently he was pretty new to, a few shipments before the other boy died by tiger.

There is no casket for the final boy. We may never find his body.

I throw dirt on the caskets and walk away. Turning away from the camp and deep into the forest. I notice Johnny's eyes meet mine, but I look away.

I'm not forgiving him, not yet anyway. He attacked me, he attacked Thomas. I need to know he's sorry. I need to know he isn't a demon.

I take a few more steps, until I'm far away from the camp.

I am a killer. Lyle is dead, I couldn't save him. Harry told me it's normal to blame myself when others die, but I don't. I didn't kill Lyle, I tried to save him, but ultimately I myself didn't kill him. And though I am physically responsible for Samuel's death, he had left me with no choice but to kill him.

"Look at that," Pan's voice rings out from behind me. "You have a giant scratch on your face. Who did you get into a fight with?"

Samuel. "I got into a lot of fights those three days."

"It's not scarring over, and the game ended a few days ago. It looks pretty nasty, all down the side of your temple."

I chuckle, shrugging. "You should see the other guy."

He'll never be able to, because I killed him. I break out into a smirk.

He shrugs. "Good to hear you can keep your own now. Fighting wise that is."

I nod, turning away from him and stepping forward. Suddenly he is in front of me.

Screw this guy's magic.

"Why'd you leave the funeral early?" He asks.

I shrug past him. "You were watching the Game the whole time, you saw."

He shakes his head. "I didn't see any of them die. Was a bit preoccupied with a, shall we say, breach of a deal."

I scoff. "What, the Natives weren't happy with you?"

"Precisely. They attacked you too didn't they?" He asks. "I saw that much. Didn't get them under control for a while."

"It's funny, I thought you had control over everything, especially the people who aren't Lost Boys." I chuckle.

He presses his lips together, before breaking out into a grin. "You don't know the half of it."

"I bet," I exhale, before I turn around, heading back to camp.

"Speaking of the bet." He says. "Is it still on?"

"Ours?" I ask. The deal, where I get to return home.

Do I still want to go home?

I cock an eyebrow. "Why not? Just for fun."

"You really want to go home after experiencing all of this?" He asks. "Neverland is a magical place."

"A place where I get to watch all my friends die, yeah." I sigh. "And as if I'm going back to the Hunt. No way, not after those three days."

He smirks, before grabbing a hold of me. Suddenly we are in the camp. He let's go, as Lost Boys slowly begin to file back inside the area. I walk to the edge of the center, next to the Medic tent, and stare as I watch people come back from the burial.

Pan pulls out his flute, raising it to his lips, and a sweet tune comes out. He steps up on to the tables. Everyone remains silent, solemnly staring at the boy. People begin to surround him in a circle. I even spot Devin running up from the beach.

Pan is calling a meeting.

He smirks down at the crowd. "Glad to see you all got my message."

No one answers, watching him.

"Well, I have news." He says. "I like games, games are fun. So we are going to play one right now."

He looks across the boys, some of whom smirk to each other, smiling, but others seem exhausted. Most have lost four friends at once.

"Now, I'm sure you all know the rules of the island." He says. "The rule is simple: don't kill each other. It's the only one. We are family. There is a difference between playing and hurting, and that difference is murder."

He looks back and forth, as if waiting for audience participation. He gives up.

"Right so, what I'm getting at is I'm not a superior, I'm an equal. Who am I to punish you?" He steps off the table, stuffing his flute into his pocket. "So I thought, maybe it would be a good idea to play a game with a few killers."

I'm not going to panic, but I really want to. His games are difficult to win. I murdered someone, he must be talking about me.

"So, would Keaton and Gregory please come forward?" He asks.

The boys slowly make their way towards him. Serves them right, killing people. I'm one to judge.

"Now, you two, you killed for what? Your own safety?" He tuts. "That's sort of selfish isn't it? I like selfish, but I much prefer loyalty. So, you and I are going to go set up some target practice, alright? The Boys can come along to, they'll bring the archery."

He and the boys disappear, vanishing.

Immediately the crowd rushing back and forth. Running to their tents, or the supply tent.

I make a beeline towards Harry, who is running into the supply tent with Alex. I reach them, following them by lifting up a bow and grabbing several arrows. Other boys grab slingshots, spears, small axes by the dozens, darts, anything they can throw.

I watch Harry leave, holding weapons knives by the dozens, tucking more into his belt then the dozen he already has.

"What is going on?" I ask.

He isn't chipper like his normal self, but I can feel his anger shedding off in layers.

"Pan's bored with all the boys mourning." Alex says. "And it's easier to make someone hate something, then to believe in it."

He's regurgitating Pan, word for word.

"Wow, this is a new level of cryptic for you." I roll my eyes.

"You have crap for brains." Alex says. "Isn't it obvious? We're going to shoot at Keaton and Gregory until they get stabbed by all of us. Or until everyone is no longer sad, and no longer angry. Until everyone can move on from the deaths."

That's fun.

I shrug. "It won't stop anyone from morning Caleb and Samuel."

"No one is morning Samuel. He probably died chasing after somebody in that fire." Harry scoffs.

"And Caleb was a plunter; couldn't do anything right." Alex shrugs, before laughing. Harry shoves him slightly.

"This isn't funny. Keaton murdered-"

"Keaton is a bloody coward, he couldn't murder anybody," Alex says. "He just lied, why do you believe they can't find the body?"

"You're in denial." Harry says. "You are always going off on how evil he is."

"I've known him for a century." Alex says. "He couldn't, he can't-"

His voice cracks I'm not sure if he's talking about Keaton anymore.

Harry stops running, so I follow suit. He puts his arms around Alex.

I've never seen Alex cry, but here and now I watch the tears leak out of his eyes. He doesn't make a sound, but I do hear Harry's tears. Harry wipes a tear off Alex's cheek, before his hands fall to rest on Alex's shoulders. Alex makes eye contact with me but blinks, looking away.

He pushes Harry off, turning from me to him, a face of shock and begins running, and Harry follows him.

I've always been told, the death of a loved one is a strange thing. I know what love is, I think the reason I feel so much is because I love everything. The sun, the rain, everyone I meet. Maybe it's not love I gravitate towards, but intensity. Neverland is intense, and I hate the loss of my intense love, but live for the intensity of my hate. I would be no one without hate.

Feelings only get stronger over time, and the longest I have known someone outside my family is ten years. Long; but not a hundred years long. Not two-hundred years. Not like Alex. He's known Keaton for longer than I've existed. I wonder if they've always hated each other.

Alex has always seemed to me as if he only knows intensity from the negative side. He writhes in hatred and disgust, in mockery and sarcasm. He does know loyalty though, and the lines between love and loyalty are often very blurred.

I didn't think he knew love. Perhaps the closest thing he has to love was his friendship with Harry, but as I watch the tears roll down his cheek, I can't help but wonder if he loved Jared too. Maybe that's why his death is hitting him so hard.

I choose not to think about his death though. It's easier to avoid than Samuel and Lyle. I try not to think about them either.

We are the last to arrive at the range, but the group immediately makes room for Alex and Harry in the center. Lost Boys are nothing if not loyal, and everyone wants revenge over the Medic's death, but none more than the Olds.

I walk away from them, walking to the edge of the crowd, towards where Pan stands.

"Alright boys, here are the rules." He's talking to Keaton and Gregory, not the rest of us. "The Lost Boys are going to have target practice, and you must make it through the arrows. When you attack us, we attack you. If you don't make it through, you'll be banished, left to waste away around the island. If not, then we will accept you back with open arms."

He smiles then nods. "When the boys are ready."

Someone sends an arrow flying straight at Keaton, who pulls Gregory into the arrow. It clips him in the arm, piercing his flesh. He locks eyes with the shooter; and I realise it's Robert.

"For Jared!" He yells.

With that, Gregory takes off running, a few arrows fly at him, but everyone is holding back for the real target. No one knows the boy who Gregory killed, only that he was a New. He deserves to be beaten; murdering a child. But everyone is saving their ammunition for Jared's killer.

Not me though.

I raise my bow, steadily aiming as he runs. I quickly fire, he jumps over the arrow as it whizzes around his feet. I fire again, this time, getting him in the thigh, though the arrow only slices his leg. He winces, but continues to run, closer to a jog then a sprint now.

I fire a final arrow into his stomach, and he falls, tucking and rolling past the line on to Peter's side.

"Very good," he grins, smacking Gregory on the back. "Don't worry, the medic will patch you up."

I almost scream at Pan before I realise he's being facetious. There is no medic, since Keaton killed him. This could kill Gregory.

He rips out the arrow, before quickly applying pressure to his stomach. I didn't realise the arrowheads were so small. He runs away, probably to stich himself shut. Hopefully he collapses before he arrives back at camp.

I can't see Keaton very well from where I stand, but can only imagine the horror he is experiencing. He killed Jared. He should be fearful.

"Pan," I hear him shout. "I don't think I-"

Suddenly Keaton takes off running, obviously trying to catch us off guard. And it works, until about half way down the line. Harry nails him in the shoulder with a knife, after a few get caught in his cloak. He has it stretched out over him, like a fabric shield. It works, causing most of the arrows to miss him, as well as the darts, but it is nothing against the spears being thrown at him.

He reaches the end with a few arrows in his leg, his cloak in tatters, and a long cut from a knife across his shoulders. He has a deep red scratch from his nose through his hair, caused by a sharp arrow.

I look down the line, and just see Alex's dark smirk.

Keaton steps back, as his feet fall behind him. He holds his stomach, wear an arrow is lodged inside of him. His face goes pale as he stumbles back, trying to hold the blood it. He holds the arrow tightly, ripping it from inside him before pulling out a needle from inside his cloak, and patching himself up on the spot.

A few boys clap and cheer, pounding their weapons off the ground.

Keaton was very lucky Pan did this. Otherwise, somebody might have actually killed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Oooh, I'm back again. So, I want to publish another chapter Tuesday. Now that school is back on I'm planning on powering through Season 1B. However, I can't have a black and white schedule because of school and homework, so I'll always tell you the chapter before when the next update comes out.

Anyway, do you think that was a justifiable punishment for Keaton and Gregory? What do you think of Charlie gripping with her murderous habits? And what about Jared? (I may or may not have kept that a secret for reasons).

As always, enjoy the sun, and I'll see you Tuesday.