Peter Pan Syndrome

by M. L. Anderson

The doctor called it Peter Pan Syndrome for lack of a better term. Her boys just didn't grow up. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just the way things were. And now Jeremiah, her third born, had started talking about girls and cars and all the grown-up things he wanted to do someday. It broke her heart. Soon she would have to say good-bye. She felt the hard sting of tears and angrily pounded another red-tinged root in the bowl, crushing it with her white pestle.

So sad, so sad. Why did it have to be this way? Her precious babies. If only they would stay little, then she wouldn't have to face this awful time again. And when it was over, she'd have to go through more questioning by the police -- with their unfriendly faces, their cold suspicious eyes -- scribbling away on their little black notepads. But the doctor would explain. It wasn't anybody's fault.

She had to be strong for her boy now and for the seed growing within her. Soon there would be another baby, another child to treasure for its sweet short life. She pushed down harder on the root, squeezing out a clear, flavorless, odorless juice. There would be no pain. Her boy wouldn't suffer. And she would hold him to the end, watching as the root's poison sucked the last color from his cheeks, the last breath from his lungs. Saying good-bye was always hard, but he would live on in her memory like the others -- her innocents unsullied by the world -- her little Peter Pans.

-- MLA
©2001 Marla L. Anderson

Marla Anderson lives in San Diego with her husband and two teenage sons, where she devotes her non-parental time to reading and writing speculative fiction. Her short story, "Heart Trouble," recently appeared in the February/March issue of Electric Wine. She is currently working on a modern-day medical thriller and looking for a publisher for her completed science-fiction novel, Nano-Genesis. You can find out more by visiting her website at www.mlanderson.com.