Writing Prompt #11

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     She awoke to the alarm. But wait, she didn’t have an alarm! Squinting her eyes toward her nightstand, she froze. There stood the smallest person she’d ever seen! “Hi,” the skinny, red-headed boy said. “I’m here to help you write a story… with me as the main character, by the way.” He winked and blew a bubble with his gum.

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  1. Wendy awoke to the alarm. But wait, she didn’t have an alarm! Squinting her eyes toward her nightstand, she froze. There stood the smallest person she’d ever seen! “Hi,” the skinny, red-headed boy said. “I’m here to help you write a story…with me as the main character, by the way.” He winked and blew a bubble with his gum. She stared at him. “How’d you get in Peter?” He shrugged. “The same way I do all the time.” Wendy glanced at the window. “If Papa catches you, you’ll be in trouble.” Peter grinned. “He doesn’t scare me. What can a writer do?” Wendy stuck her tongue out at him. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here to help me, now would you?” He shook his head reluctantly and moved to sit on a chair. “So what adventure am I in now?” Wendy pulled out her stack of papers and surveyed them with infinite hesitation before handing them to him. “I haven’t gotten very far. Papa’s all out of ideas, so he’s been taking me places to get his mind off of his problem.” Peter blew another bubble and leaned back. “He should read your story. Maybe he could write it, only better.” Wendy frowned. “Hey!” He winked. “Just kiddin’.” Wendy leaned forward on her knuckles. “That’s not a bad idea, although Papa would probably change you a little.” Peter cocked his head at her. “How so?” Wendy shrugged. “Little things. Make you taller, make you fly. Give you a duck beak,” she added teasingly. Peter smirked. “I can live with the first two, but I’ll have to adjust to a beak.” There was a knock on the door and her mother poked her head in. “Your father’s gone down to breakfast. Why don’t you join him?” She closed the door and walked away. Peter clambered out from under the bed. “Now’s your chance! Put the story on his desk.” Wendy frowned with puzzlement. “How will I?” Peter scribbled an inscription on the front page. “From Peter Pan, supreme ruler of Neverland.” Wendy frowned. “I don’t think he’ll believe it.” Peter clicked his heels together. “Who cares if he believes it? Trust me, it’ll spark his interest.” Wendy obliged and slipped out of the room. Once she’d placed her story on her father’s desk, she returned. There was no sign of Peter, but a bit of dust sitting in the sun from his clothes. The dust looked golden in the light. “Pixie dust,” Wendy smiled.

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