Think of happy thoughts... and you will fly.

Pan closed his eyes. He heard the loud roar of the waves crashing against the island's cliffs. Wild, agitated, rumbling, almost as if the island suspected what he was about to do. The wind rose up, driving through the crowns of the jungle trees behind him, rustling the leaves. Were they applauding? Or were they trying to drown out the throbbing in his chest that stumbled restlessly? Were they shouting at him to let it go?

Peter took a deep breath. Tinkerbell's jingling and tinkling had become quieter; by now, he sometimes had to concentrate to understand her. But right now, she was very loud in voicing her displeasure.

"I have to do it," he muttered, hearing the flutter of little wings as she buzzed around his head. She was anxious. The ringing grew louder and more desperate. Tink was going to stop him... Of course she wanted to. Not so long ago he would have just wiped it away with his hand and not cared because all that mattered... was him and what HE wanted.

He was Peter Pan. He was the hero of Neverland. The boy who never grew up. He was the sun around which the world of the lost and everything in Neverland revolved. He only ever did what HE felt like doing. If he wanted to run, he ran. If he wanted to crow, he crowed.

But now... everything had become different.

His senses were humming in an entirely new way, and everything felt different. And now... something sprouted in his chest that had never been there before. Sharp-edged stones suddenly made everything heavy, and Peter felt it pulling him to the ground.
What was it? Grief? Remorse? Worry? Doubt?

These words tasted foreign and disgusting on his tongue.

He hated it. He hated it all.

But he couldn't let it stop him now.

"Tink," his voice became firmer as he opened his eyes again. Behind him, the trees stood in dense rows, thinning out around him and opening a view of the steep, angeld cliffs before him.

"Do it. And then wait for me here", he ordered sternly.

The protest in the ringing did not cease even as the little fairy circled around him. A sudden flash, like the reflection of sunlight on a shiny coin, swirled through the air, nothing more - or so it seemed. Fine dust trickled from her body, glowing in the darkness of the night with its enchanting golden hue. It scattered over his shoulders, attached itself to his blond hair and drew brushstrokes of golden colour on his clothes and skin. The leaves on his clothes trembled from the little wings whirring past them. Shiny gold dust tumbled to the ground around his feet, covering the grass and the ground with a sheen so breathtaking that even diamonds paled like clumsy pebbles in comparison.

'Think of happy thoughts, and you will fly.'

Peter told himself again and again. He had never doubted it, and it determined his life. Think of something beautiful.

He thought of the feeling of flying, of the freedom it symbolised. Of how he had run barefoot through the forest with Lily. The taste of the sweet berries. How beautiful the never-honey glowed in the sunlight as it dripped from the combs. He thought of the melodic sounds of his flute and how Tink twirled through the air to it.

Once more, he inhaled - then he ran.

Faster and faster until the colours blurred in the corner of his eye, he flew across the ground. Grass tickled under his feet. Then he reached the end of the cliff and jumped. Peter didn't remember how often he had done this before-jumping and flying. Riding on the wind's back, higher and higher, all the way above the clouds. For Peter Pan, there were no limits.

This time, however, it was different. Peter Pan did not take off; instead, he started spinning. The weight of his thoughts pulled at him, and he sank abruptly into the depths. For a second, his mind ran blank, and then he concentrated and clung to beautiful thoughts.

The smell of the forest, earth and sunshine. The tickle of his nose when the wind blew in his face.

He got a hold of a beautiful thought, clung to it - and it pulled him upwards. The fear in his chest lifted, the weight lifted off his shoulders, and Peter let out a loud, triumphant crow as he shot upwards - towards the night sky.

Peter climbed higher and higher. Head craned, he gazed up at the dark blue-black of the sky. The wind blew in his face and made the strands of his hair flutter around his features. His old friend welcomed him and whispered in his ear, slipping between his fingers and tickling the tips.

He took advantage of the lift of beautiful thoughts before risking a look down. Beneath the veiling clouds, the massive island rose in the black waters of the Neverseas. It shrank beneath him. Stone buildings and native tents turned to tiny ants, and the fires on the island became tiny specks of light in a sea of darkness. A lone, large ship wavered in Cannibal Cove, becoming nothing more than a little plaything in the waves. The silvery white moonlight sent glimmering reflections across the waves breaking on the land that meant... home to him.

Peter shook his head and tore his gaze away - up into the sky again. Up there, the stars were shining, blinking down at him with tension and curiosity. Higher, higher. The wind became harsher and the air thinner the further he flew. The clouds remained below him-no more than warped, veiled white shadows. The island, meanwhile, had become a greenish blob amid black ink deep below him.

He wanted to remember it always, to hold on to it like a precious treasure. The memory of what it was like to fly. Flying had always been easy. The pure joy and excitement of breaking free from the world's shackles. Truly... free.

'It's breathtaking, Peter!'

The memory of the bright, tender voice full of excitement was suddenly there. Peter's eyes snapped open. Wendys voice. A shiver ran down the back of his neck and climbed the skin of his arms, and at once, it was if the happy thoughts had been wiped away. The glow that surrounded him went out as suddenly as if someone had blown out a candle's flame and Peter plummeted into the depths.

His body toppled forward. Losing speed, a cold shot biting through every vein to the tips of his fingers and feet. He spun in the air, his legs and arms finding no grip, no balance. Peter's breath caught - along with his heartbeat. He stretched his fingers as if something could hold him; as if he could reach for something. But there was nothing to hold on to.

At breakneck speed, he fell lower and shot through the air that now pricked his skin with frosty needles. Peter sank like a stone towards the clouds, and for a brief second, he almost hoped they might catch him. He clung to it, no matter how ridicolous the thought seemed. Sometimes miracles happened in Neverland, and he had more than once lain on them and spied out pirates from there. But when he reached the white veils, he slipped through. They had no more substance than a dream that dispersed upon waking up.

The island and the Neverseas came into view faster and faster. Panic pushed nausea into his stomach. Noooo, nooo, noooo!

Peter squinted his eyes. He had to concentrate! He could not - WOULD not fail! He was not just anyone! He was Peter Pan!

For a second, he felt the well-known enthusiasm. The sweet taste of pride and self-assurance. He thought of all the victories, all the successes! Of the feeling that nothing was impossible...

Peter's fall slowed down. As if wind and faith in himself held out saving hands, the golden glow on his body began to shine brighter again.

'But you have failed before.'

His body abruptly dropped lower again.

He had to fly again, and he HAD to!

Otherwise, he would die.

Peter's head refused to understand and accept that.

But he continued to fall-metre by metre by metre.

That was the first chapter of 'When The Stars Fall' :)

I hope you enjoyed it!

Word count: 1,398 words