[ WP ] Peter Pan is a serial killer who uses pixie dust to cause little children to jump off windows in the hopes of being able to fly .

Peter's heart sank again. You think he'd be used to it by now; the searing hatred in their voices. A sudden commanding uproar in their tone, or a fist hitting something hard. But he was n't. In fact, the only thing he could feel hearing his parents fight were two halves of himself being ripped down the seam. He so desperately longed for love in his home. He wondered how many times the neighbors heard their rage echoing through the English neighborhood of townhouses. Each of their wars seemed to multiply th- 
 
 `` AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH'' 
 He heard a shriek, his mother's... but in a tone that he had never heard before. This was a scream of life threatened fear, unlike any known to him previously.. time froze. 
 
 `` HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, THAT'S WHAT YOU GET. THAT'S WHAT YOU- YOU WRETCHED BITCH. WHORE! WHHOOOOOOOOOORE HAHAHAH AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH'' 
 He heard glass shatter. What had just happened. 
 
 `` You know what happened.'' A low voice within him bellowed. 
 `` What has transpired, has been a long time coming. Go and see, you are ready.'' His ears rang. Peter felt dazed, yet compelled. He had to investigate. Slowly, he collected himself in the moonlight shining into his dark bedroom. He inched towards his door, and slowly turned the handle. On the platform overlooking his foyer, Peter's mother lay. He could instantly detect the iron smell of blood. He went to his mother's corpse, her throat had been slashed. Here, his parents war was had concluded. He felt a breeze from the corridor leading past his bedroom. A shattered window waited, glowing a twilight blue, like a divine executioner waiting to set fate into motion. Peter approached the window, and looked upon who was once his other half, now a lifeless object. His father lie under an orange streetlight 3 stories down; he too in a crimson pool. An image flashed in his head, a summer day he had shared with his parents a few years back. All he could see were their smiles. His father's protective gaze; his mother's loving surrender. He felt like his time with his parents had just begun. Why. Why did it have to be this way? What went wrong? 
 
 `` In his study.'' The voice bellowed in the walls of his mind. `` Do you remember your mother mentioning his time spent there? Go now.'' 
 
 Peter slammed through the heavy oak door, with one hope: truth. He tore recklessly through his fathers room, throwing books from walls, papers from drawers 
 
 *CRASH* 
 
 An urn shattered on the ground. In a pile of ceramic shards and ash, lay a small box. Peter opened it to find a white powder. `` This?'' he thought `` This is what transformed my father into a monster?!'' `` At all costs, |flash forward 5 years, Peter is now 13| this is what you want to avoid.'' He said to the boy. `` You fly too low'' *he stuck a toothpick through an olive* `` You're skewered.'' `` Ooo oo! Mr. Pan, you must tell me, what's the most beautiful place to fly at this time?'' Again an image flashed, his parents sitting on a bench on a warm evening, watching boats pass down the river. `` Along the river, I'd say.'' as he put the olive in his mouth. `` You about ready, Joseph?'' 
 `` Definitely!!'' Joseph exclaimed 
 `` Okay. It's nothing difficult. Just like breathing through one nostril, you want to suck all the powder in, like an elephant collecting water.'' 
 `` I love elephants!'' said Joseph. 
 He quickly inhaled a line of the drugs. Almost immediately, he began jogging towards the window. `` WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO'' Joe howled. Peter grinned. This job had been quite easy for him. He opened the boys dresser to take a trophy. He chose a shoe. `` Another lost boy.'' he thought with indifference as he stepped onto the rooftop into darkness. 

