Neverland

"Hello! Welcome to Neverland!" I holler as I watch the family of four make their way into the shop.

They return the greeting but I can see their eyes are busy absorbing all the sights of the store. There are stuffed animals, rocking horses, remote control cars, life-size dolls, wooden blocks, and a train track designed to give children rides around the store. From the ceiling dangles Peter Pan and his friends, pixie dust glistens on the walls where I'd tossed glitter against wet glue months ago, and Tinker Bell hangs over the doorway, chiming the arrival of all customers.

Overall, it's a child's paradise.

I recall my own childhood when I see the smiles etched into the children's faces. So much joy. I was free to be creative and imaginative without a care in the world. Unfortunately, the world has turned dark as I've aged. Ugliness hangs like a noose around my throat, threatening to snatch away my happiness with a simple pull of the rope.

"Are you planning to leave the children here for the day?" I ask the family as they take in all the hidden treasures throughout the store.

Children deserve to be in a place that brings joy. Life has become too serious and I hate that those burdens have begun to reflect on the children. 

"No," the mother says, taking her son's hand in hers as they meander down another aisle. "Just looking around."

"The detail in this is incredible," I hear the husband mutter to himself from my left, but I refrain from turning to see what he's referring to.

"Wonderful," I say, smiling at the blond woman. "Let me know if you need anything."

Not ten minutes later, the family is gone. I tap my fingers on the top of the counter, waiting impatiently for more happy faces to enter the store. The seconds tick into hours before those faces arrive, but they're not happy.

The mother is slinging her purse angrily over her shoulder as she makes a beeline for me. Her daughter has disappeared into the back of the store, and I find myself leaning slightly in hopes of catching a glimpse of her whereabouts.

"Where do I sign?" the woman demands.

I hastily pull a form from the top drawer and slide it over to the woman.

"Just fill this out," I tell her with the most genuine smile I can muster.

It's just a legal document that all parents and guardians must sign if they wish to leave their children here for the day to play. I watch the woman scribble something down quickly before leaving. I sigh in frustration at her lack of care. It's parent's like her that don't deserve children.

I glance down at the document, not surprised to find the emergency contact number, email address, and home address blanks all empty. The only information she gave was her daughter's name. I guess it's up to me to provide this child with the happiness she deserves.

"Hi Peyton," I say, finding her in the back corner of the store chatting to a stuffed bunny.

She offers a shy smile but doesn't respond.

"You like that toy?" I ask, bending down so I'm more at her level.

She nods.

"You want to see how I make them?"

Her eyes light up and she jumps from the bean bag she's been lounging in. I lead her silently to the back of the store and through a doorway. Flipping on the lights, my workshop comes to life. I watch Peyton eye the space with awe, her fingers skimming over a paint tray and fiddling with a box of buttons.

"Why don't you sit down over there," I tell her, pointing to a stool next to the work table.

She silently obeys and then watches with curious eyes as I gather my supplies. I slip on a pair of gloves before dipping my brush in paint and then grazing it over the young girl's face. She's surprised by my actions but doesn't try to stop me.

"You like dolls?" I ask her conversationally as I continue to decorate her face with the finesse of an artist.

"Yeah," she mutters as I coat her lips with cherry red paint.

I drop the paintbrush in a cup of water before reaching for my next instrument.

"Me too."

She barely makes a sound as I fill her veins with the sedative. Her eyes droop without a fight. She wants this; I can tell. The hours stretch on as I perfect her with just a few stitches and a heavy layer of makeup. Her lips form a permanent smile as her glass eyes stare unblinkingly back at mine. Slipping the small dress over her little frame, I smile at my handiwork.

She'll never be sad again.

What people don't realize here at Neverland is that I make all the toys myself. I've created the perfect place for children, a place where darkness doesn't exist. It's a place where a child's innocent will live on forever.

Because here at Neverland, children never grow up.