Norman Goldy Pond (The Promised Neverland)

A08-63

            The wind whistled through the forest, a haunting melody of the unknown. But Norman's attention was not on the gloomy atmosphere disguised by the cheerful decorations. His attention was not on the wild demons howling somewhere further out, nor on the whistling of the wind that strangely reminded him of the remnants of a long-forgotten lullaby.

              The evening sun cast a warm glow over the forest, bearing an uncanny resemblance to soft candlelight. Dried leaves crunched below his feet as he slowly walked towards his destination.

              There it was. 

            The stuffed clown lying on the tall speaker, its clothes dyed blood red, and its smile stretching from ear to ear. Norman's gaze drifted over to the houses. They started from where he was to another far end, all of them uncanny in resemblance. This village was built on an estimate that it would house probably dozens of people.

             And yet, it was strangely silent.

            Norman continued his inspection. What he saw was true. Not a single soul was left in the village. But some things were very odd. Bowls left on the table like people had just finished a meal. A garden in the corner, slightly overgrown but no doubt hinted at being kept some time ago. A strange glint caught his eye. What was that all about?

         Norman squatted down, picking up the firearm lying on the ground. Then he dropped it again like it had scalded him. He brought his hand to his mouth, muffling the sound of horror at all the puzzle pieces coming together.

       He ran to the center of the town, stumbling over the uneven concrete tiles, but nevertheless as quickly as his legs could carry him. Brown stains bled all over the floor, slashes of them adorning the walls. Scattered guns and bullets indicating signs of struggle and fight.

         Norman halted, eyes wide with terror as the flashbacks he knew all too well started tunnelling into his head again. The screams. The blood. The smell of death being familiar each and every day. That hateful plant blooming a sickening red.

         Then he remembered where he was. Deep breaths, he reminded himself, trying to bring his heartbeat back to normal. Norman closed his eyes as he breathed the clean forest air, until most of his tense muscles had relaxed and he was no longer stricken with terror. He continued on with his search. Maybe he could get something out of the buildings.

          With some poking and prodding around, he was able to gather some miscellaneous items. A long wooden cane. A whole stack of notebooks, the worn out pages from overuse. Some first-aid kits, practically almost empty. Glasses. A few nuts and bolts.

        There was no way some of these items would be left behind had those children abandoned this village themselves. The evidence soured Norman's mood, solidifying the difficult truth.

       Those disgusting creatures.

        Norman continued his walk towards the heart of the town, the windmill. According to Dr Smee, Minerva's ally, James Ratri had recorded a message and hidden it here. Back when this town had the innocent purpose of sheltering escapees from the outside world, this would have been the perfect place to start a rebellion.

       Norman smiled to himself bitterly. It would be a fool's dream for children to escape to the human world without a fuss. His thoughts went back to the same orange haired girl they had always gone to when he felt conflicted. Emma would try this method. No matter what the risks were, she would always advocate and pursue the path of least bloodshed.

         He wished that she was here with him. He wished for her comforting presence, and her endless optimism to shine over him. Or maybe Ray's cynical but determined self, able to push him forward to choose the best option.

        What if he had more time? What if those two were with him, and what if this world wasn't as sick and twisted as it was? Maybe with all these factors, he would have chosen the peaceful option.

        The shards of a broken teacup scattered light across the dimly lit room, specks of light shattering through the darkness.

       The words of a dead man were of little comfort to Norman, but he appreciated Minerva's efforts to save them anyway. Just for a moment, he toyed with the idea of following in Minerva's footsteps, but shook himself out of it. The pacifist route would never be the best solution.

       Especially with my limited time, he couldn't help but think bitterly. There was no time to make mistakes.

       Somehow, he was relieved that Vincent and Barbara weren't there yet. They were probably still busy scouting the area for any threats, giving him the time he needed to be alone.

       Norman turned to leave, but in his hesitation, looked back to give the town one last look. So many things were still scattered all over the place, the bright colours faded to a dull shade. He had to say goodbye to those that lived and died fighting the demons. It was the least he could do to acknowledge their bravery and spirit, after all.

          Carefully, he made his way onto the nearest roof, where he untied a balloon. For a while, Norman stood there in silence, with only the faint swaying of the balloon accompanying his movement in this stone cold village.

           Slowly, the balloon escaped his grasp as he released the string. Norman watched the red sphere floated away, moving his lips to form a silent goodbye, a silent prayer that all these lives lost would be at peace.

           Emma was still alive. Norman knew with all his heart that she would never give up the fight, and neither would Ray. And somewhere out there, they would still be striving to live in this world, no matter what. Maybe one day, they would find each other again. Or maybe it would be too late for him, and they would only be able to see his plan of a peaceful paradise in motion.

           Nothing would matter, Norman reassured himself. This was the best way to save their family, as well as others from these horrific demons. He had to do it. He had to stop all these killings, and to stop all those smiles being stolen off of children. He could carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, no matter the cost. His life would always be a small sacrifice in the bigger goal of the greater good. Reliability would always win, even if it meant abandoning everything to change the world.

        Sorry, James, but I'm going to have to borrow your name.

       Norman pulled his cloak over him, obscuring the remnants of a boy left in him, and creating an imposing figure of a reliable leader. He now stood up a little straighter, a little taller, putting on that impassive expression as he returned to his crew.

       His footsteps settled into a rhythm, as though mocking him of the seconds ticking away.

       Tick, tock, tick, tock. 

        They were running out of time. He was running out of time. Their plan had to be put into action soon. He was going to be a better William Minerva, and choose the best path for all of them. Nothing was going to stop them.

        The rebellion leader exhaled, the artificial sky disappearing behind him as the distance between him and the town increased. He looked down at the Pen, a determined expression crossing his face.

       He would put an end to this Neverland.

        With newfound determination and strength, the new leader spoke his first words.

         A promise to keep his family safe.

        "Let's start, James."

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