"Ever heard the tale of Peter Pan? It's likely you have. I mean, he's a pretty prominent fiction character, and a true hero. Well, it was based on a true story, and I can tell you, because I know. You have to promise not to spill to anyone, because the truth can't be revealed. That's the way it is. This is the one-hundred percent, honest-to-goodness, true-blue truth, and may my nose be stretched like Pinocchio's if I stray from the path of fact.
Now, where to begin is a good question? Ah, well, I guess a good start would be on Christmas Eve, many, many years ago; I don't quite know how long. A boy was born, whom the proud parents named Peter, after his father. Ever since he could walk, the little tyke had a passion for adventures. It was hard for him to sit still. Always up and about, he was, always laughing and joking and finding some way to make light of even the darkest and most serious settings.
How do I know all this? Because he is my best friend.
When he got to around age ten, he ran away from his restrictive and protective parents to blaze his own trail and live a life of glory and action. That's when he stumbled across me.
My story begins around the same time as his does. My mother raised me in a small, secluded cove deep in a forest. It was happy there, at least for the first few months of my life, with my brothers and sisters. That is, until that one dreadful day a poacher or scientist or some other nosy human scooped me up and separated me from my family. He kept muttering something about my beautiful blue fur and a zoo as he carried me firmly by the scruff of my neck to a truck, which I thought was just a big machine at the time. I was put into a crate and it sounded like it was being nailed shut. I felt confined, alone, and helpless all at once, which is exactly what I was; I was just a little Foxerfly kit.
Eventually I fell asleep, curled up against the wooden walls that confined me. There was lots of room to stretch out when lying down, but if I stood up I would hit my head, which I did a number of times on accident and may have led to my "nap". The box seemed to be drifting back and forth, lulling me off to dreamland. I imagined I was floating, bobbing like a cork in the ocean. I opened my eyes discontentedly, and saw to my horror that it was no dream. I was stranded, or so it seemed, out in the open ocean, with no one to help me. I got up on my hind legs and peered out of the crate. I was thankfully approaching land, but it was still a long way off. Then, I felt the box moving away from the landmass, and with a switch of the current, I was off in the other direction. In despair, I did the only thing that seemed logical at that moment and jumped out, paddling as hard as I could to reach the shore. I couldn't exactly master flight yet, so I had to go with my next best bet to safety. One stroke after another, my little paws never ceased paddling, inching me closer to dry land. I had never swam this far in my short life, and to this day, I probably still haven't.
By the time I reached the shore, my muscles were screaming in agony and I was just about ready to pass out. I crawled slowly up the shore, dragging my weary body out of reach of the waves before the tide could carry back out to sea. Panting heavily, I plopped down on the burning sand, warm from the sun. I fell asleep almost the second my bedraggled frame hit the earth.
I was awakened by a tickling sensation under my chin. I opened one grey-blue eye, confused, and saw I was snout-to-face with a human. Please, not another one,I thought desperately. Seeming to sense my panic, the human smiled down at me. His grin reminded me a bit of my mother, whom I missed dreadfully. My heart seemed to give a despondent pang.
'Don't be frightened,' said the human in a cheery, comforting tone of voice. 'I can take care of you. I promise I won't hurt you.'
I slowly opened the other eye and looked him over cautiously. My body was sore from my swim and I didn't feel like I had enough strength to move, but one look into the boy's soulful, soothing brown eyes and I knew an escape wouldn't be necessary. He picked me up gently and held me in his sturdy, cupped hands. 'I know all about Foxerflies,' he said reassuringly, 'and I can help you, if you'll allow it.'
This boy knew what I was? I smiled and licked his nose eagerly. 'Th-thank you,' I croaked, knowing he knew I could talk.
That was the start of a long, wonderful friendship."
Part Two of my story-in-pictures entry art for Foxerfly #171. Foxerflies (c) ~Koda~
