The dark, dank crevices of the stone dungeon echoed with the sounds of breathing, whispering, and murmuring. The stale air whistled past the inhabitants, signaling that the solid oak door had swung open.
Hard, deliberate footsteps echoed through the stone maze as keys jingled around a ring with each pounding. Lantern light brushed against the walls and the cells, revealing stone that hadn't been touched in years. The prisoners leaned as close as they could to bars, attempting to soak in the only source of light in their dark-drenched world.
The lamp-bearer halted in front of a small cell. A tiny form could be seen partially shrouded in the vertically striped shadows of bars. He stood up from the corner with a dirty arm raised, shielding his face from the only light that had caressed his skin in years.
The deafening sound of a key being inserted in a lock echoed throughout the maze, making the young captive lurch with surprise.
“You are free now” a deep and unfeeling voice boomed. “The master was notified that he began writing again. Well…..don’t just stand there covering yer face like a ghoul, get up and follow me.”
The boy obediently followed the gruff figure through the stone labyrinth. Finally they came to the doorway where the boy had first crossed into this hole several years ago. He was utterly blinded by the light once the door was opened and he walked, sightless, behind the wide figure. The large man abruptly stopped and the boy ran into him.
“Here he is.” The gruff voice bellowed.
“Ah. Good.” The new voice was kinder, calmer, and aged. A voice that the boy recognized from when he first was taken from his home and placed here.
The boy’s eyes were still blinded from the light. He reached around to feel where he was, but was unable to grasp anything within his reach.
“Peter,” The calm voice said. “Your author has started writing again. It was last night after a particular experience that invigorated his creativity.”
“So….I’m free now?” He said slowly and cautiously. “I mean, I can go back home?”
“Once you’re being written we cannot keep you here any longer. However, as you remember, if he stops writing and does not finish the story you must return to this place. For this is the dungeon of abandoned characters.”
As J.M. Barrie picked up his pen to begin to write, he felt a significant sense of relief after his long hiatus. He was awash with a sense of purposefulness and feeling of urgency to finish that he hadn't felt before.
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