Peter Pantomime

Dreamless Sleep

"So? Did you have a good time?" Martha asked.

Gwen shrugged. "It was nice, I suppose. It was kind of Matron to arrange something like a celebration, especially with the amount of 'birthdays' she has to keep track of."

Martha raised an eyebrow and Gwen was briefly reminded of Mary-Ann. "Well, if you say so." With that, she walked away and Gwen was left on her own to contemplate whatever.

Sighing, Gwen sat down and sank onto her bed. People passed her, not paying attention to her, and the bed near her was left vacant. No new orphan girls had come to fill in Mary-Ann's space. With a pang, she wondered if she had remembered to return that misplaced pinafore to its owner. Oh, well. Gwen fluffed her pillow lightly for the tenth time, and rolled over once more. Most nights, she could hear Mary-Ann shuffling and turning in bed, fidgeting around endlessly. She herself would usually lie still, unable to fall asleep yet soundless. Now, however, she could not stay there, unmoving. All of a sudden she was filled with some sort of feeling she couldn't quite put a name to and felt an urge to rearrange her whole entire bed, to rip off its sheets one by one and turn her pillows inside out.

It's restlessness, Gwen realized. She turned over once more.

Around her, various girls breathed in then exhaled calmly, in a deep sleep. It was going to be another night. Defeated, Gwen sighed and sat up, propping her back up with her single pillow. She could probably steal Mary-Ann's old pillow for the night, then put it back before somebody woke up and yelled "Gwennie's being a pillow hog!" Frowning and reaching up to feel her head with her hands, Gwennie looked out the window at the full moon.

"Lots of stars out tonight," she muttered to herself.

A draft passed through the room and ruffled the bottom of the bedsheets. Hugging herself, Gwen wrapped the blankets more tightly around her thin body, and shuddered.

"Are you scared now that Mary-Ann is leaving?" Jane asked.

Gwennie chose to remain quiet, staring out and pretending she hadn't heard her.

"You know, the other girls, what they say about you…it's not nice."

Gwennie looked down at her feet. She noticed a hole in her stocking and made a mental note to mend it later.

"I know you just can't stand not doing anything, but…you know, it's odd that you always volunteer to do the chores. Or if somebody's already working, you offer to do their job for them. Cleaning the chimney, washing the dishes, dusting off the furniture, mending everyone's clothes…do you just like work, or do you really have nothing better to do?"

Gwen continued to pretend she hadn't heard anything and fiddled with the hole in her stocking, pretending to just notice it.

"Whatever. You do know that once Mary-Ann's not around to scold them, they're going to start calling you a boring old goody two-shoes again."

"I don't really care if they do," Gwen replied. "Nothing they say ever bothers me."

Jane frowned. "You mean you don't even have any pride? You don't even care if people only want you so they can use you just because you're all about being a helpful older sister?"

"And what's wrong with it?" Gwen retorted. "I'd rather be an older sister than a younger sister. It's better to have people depend on you rather than having to depend on them. Nobody really wants you if you just depend on them, they just look down on you like a burden."

"Is that what you think of the children you take care of?"

"Of course not. I care about them."

"Only when they agree to be obedient and follow you around like little angels. You don't really care about them when they throw tantrums or sit in a corner crying."

"That's not true."

"Sure, you approach them. But the instant that they slap away your hand, you just walk away and never turn back. And they're all the same to you-you just go away and help or play with some other child. Even now, you won't worry about Mary-Ann because you're scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that you'll grow attached to people, of course! It's why you always treat everyone the same, isn't it? You just sit in your polite little circle and smile at everyone and let them walk all over you. They can hurt you, but they know you'll never show them your heart. They can insult you, but they'll never be able to get you in trouble because you use your manners like an armor. And if something is bothersome, you'll just ignore it and focus on work instead. Especially if it's someone pointing out something uncomfortable, like me. But I'm used to it, so don't worry yourself about it."

Jane stood up and started to walk away.

"You know what they call you now? Dollface. They say that smile you always have looks empty and it creeps them out. Aren't you even going to speak for yourself?"

It was now that time, long after Lock-Out Time that Gwen called "the witching hour." Unlike other girls, she had not read about it in a book- for the Matron never allowed any fairy tale books around. She did not believe that such books were good influences for developing young minds, and as a result the only books to be found all concerned subjects like geography or history. Instead, Gwen had heard two older girls whispering about it amongst themselves, and asked one of the boys about it. It was one of the eeriest, darkest, latest hours, when everything that was hidden came out and shadows had lives of their own. Or perhaps he had been trying to scare her. But Gwen didn't mind-it sounded like a perfectly reasonable definition, after all.

"It's not that I don't care. I'm just a calm person, that's all," Gwen murmured to herself, wiping one eye. Eventually the small trickle began to become a steady stream, and her one sleeve was too soaked, so she switched to the other. She really didn't take up much space, did she? Not on her little bed. Not even in the entire dormitory. She was still a very small girl in an entire world. "I just thought, if the little kids needed me…I wouldn't…" She couldn't finish her sentence and buried her head in her arms.

But the reality was, children were just coming and going. Even the younger ones were already learning to say goodbye to some of their playmates. She herself wasn't that important. They might cry a little or remember her face, but really, this was an orphanage. She would have to leave it someday, and there was no way of telling whether it was written in her stars to leave with a family of her own.

"She's always smiling emotionlessly and hanging around the children. It's like she's trying to distance herself from everyone else."

"Yeah! I mean, she does tell us to come to her if we ever need anything, but it's clear she doesn't want anything to do with us if we're not going to be her cute little sisters. It's so hard to understand whether she really cares or if she's just being fake."

"I heard she had several interviews already, but they've all failed."

"That's odd. I mean, she's pretty polite. You'd think people would like that."

"Yeah, but maybe they see how unsettling she is. It's weird that she's like, almost too perfect."

"'Too perfect' is a perfect description. I just don't get how she never gets in trouble and she's always working or studying and she knows all the answers yet she's not full of herself."

"She probably is. She's probably secretly gloating about it."

Gwen wiped her eyes on her nightgown skirt, wondering where her handkerchief had gone. In the moonlight, her hands looked paler than paper, almost translucent. She held out one against the bedsheet. They were the same milky color, as she suspected.

"Gwennie, I had a dream that somebody wanted to kidnap you!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah! I told Cornelius about it and he said it probably means that the Bogeyman is coming after you!"

"Don't worry too much about it. The Bogeyman isn't even real."

Gwen frowned and yanked at a lock of mousy hair. In the strange light, it looked silver and almost otherworldly. It was true. She was just a replaceable older sister figure to them, one that they would have no need of once they had a real one. She hated them all, despicable little children. She didn't really care for them, either. But nobody else tended to them except her. She was the only one who at least bothered to help them.

"You mean he's like Neverland?"

"What's that?"

"I think my mommy used to read me stories about it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. My mom also told me about this girl who wanted to go to a 'ball' so her fairy mother appeared and gave her a dress and she lost her shoe at the dance but the prince gave it back to her. But when it was midnight, she turned into a pumpkin."

"I'm surprised you can remember your mother. I'm sure she must really have loved you…"

Gwen smirked unpleasantly. She didn't even know why she didn't have a mother. She doubted that she had even received her name from her. Most likely it was selected by the Matron after quickly perusing a book of names.

"I think the dream was about one of the characters from the story."

"Oh, really? Was it the fairy?"

"No. Not from the story with the glass shoe. I meant the story about Neverland. There's a boy in it, his name is Peter Pan and he can talk to children."

"You're telling me."

"Yeah. One time, his friend Tinker Bell-she's a fairy but she's not the same fairy as the other story, I think-Tinker Bell was dying so he flew to the real world and asked all the children whether they believed in fairies."

"He can fly?"

"Yes. A lot of children said no, but other ones said they did, and I think that was why she lived. I had a dream that Peter Pan came to me and asked me if I saw you and I said yes and then he flew away."

"My, my."

Perhaps she would be starting sixth form soon. Gwen scoffed to herself. She would be fifteen once the clock chimed midnight. She shook her head, but the voices kept nagging in her mind. Have you even seen that girl who gave you the doll again?

Suddenly lonely, Gwen felt around for the doll, only to realize that some child had probably helped herself to it and forgotten to return it. That's what comes of telling them they can do whatever they want with it, Gwen muttered, angry with herself.

What did it matter to her if other people thought she was a heartless doll? She wasn't. If they didn't care for her, then she simply did not care for them. It wasn't like she was going to stay around when the only people who wanted her were sniveling children with runny noses and sticky hands demanding a nanny. It wasn't like she was trying to be hard to relate to. It was already obvious from when she had been a defenseless and imperfect child that nobody really cared for her, even as a little sister. So what was wrong with deciding to just keep her own thoughts to herself? Why judge her for enjoying studying and preferring to work rather than talk to a large group of people?

Standing up, she walked towards the balcony. If somebody was standing in the garden, they could see her.

"If nobody wants me and I'm just like a milk bottle waiting to be bought before I expire, then I suppose it's better if I'm just not there to bother anyone. So sorry that my presence is such a hindrance to you, with all my manners and mothering and cold demeanor!"

With some difficulty, she hoisted a leg onto the railing. In the moment she straddled it, she tried looking down and felt her stomach hit bottom.

It'll be over quickly. I think.

For a second she wondered if she should bring a pillow with her. It might have been nice to have the doll, too.

"Here goes nothing," Gwen winced, now sitting on top of the railing.

How should I fall? Which part of me is going to hit the ground first? Should I try to hit it with my head so that I get knocked out instantly? But what if I survive and I wake up in an asylum with brain damage?

"Honestly, just do it, there's nothing to hold me back," Gwen frowned.

And with that, she shakily let go and jumped.

Her stomach plummeted with the uncomfortable feeling that would not stop. Gwen closed her eyes, dreading the moment she would feel herself hit the ground. As she fell, she could feel her body tensing up, and losing oxygen.

And then a voice yelled, "I got you!"

Briefly, she allowed herself to peek through her fingers. Then she shrieked and covered her face again, falling into a deep faint. She might have felt someone's arms catch her and heard them grunt faintly before steadying themselves. Perhaps when she had peeked, she had seen the strange boy clad in clothes that looked a bit too large for him and as if nobody had been there to wash them for him.

"Are you sure this is the right one, Tink?" the voice asked, unaware of the fact that she was now unconscious. "She does look an awful lot like her, though." There was a faint tinkling sound of bells, and then that was all.