Prompt--Write a short story of up to 1500 words about how you would imagine the celebration of Pride Month in Neverland.

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Have you heard what they say, that every time a baby laughs, a fairy is born?

I'm sure you have, it's how every fairy on Neverland got here, each of them young and gray between the wings. But I have another question, Peter: do you know why we celebrate pride month here?

I do.

Every time a queer kid laughs, a fairy finds her colors.

She wakes with topaz in her eyes,

a colored pattern on her gown,

a hue of sparkles flitting from her wings.

And you know, Peter Pan, why there's so many more winter fairies this year than spring ones. No shade to the winter fairies, we need them, except we also need sunshine daisies and ladybugs, strawberry fairies and lilac ones. We need snowflakes reflecting rainbow crystals, not only frozen tears.

My name is Tinker Bell, so I am not a queer human, but your idea of a giant rainbow cake and some rainbow streamers up on Captain Hook's boat to celebrate pride month, is tragically short-sighted.

You know, Peter Pan, why the queer kids aren't laughing.

In Florida. In Guyana. England. Qatar.

You know, Peter Pan, that no rainbow cake to make your lost boys laugh will help anybody else be happy.

You know, Peter Pan, that a rainbow represents something, and until everyone under the rainbow is safe, all of us will lose our colors.

I can see it now: Neverland, home of the drab, gray, and bland. Neverland, home of the tasteless rainbow cakes. Neverland, home meant for the homeless, failing at its job.

Maybe you'd feel a little more found if you gave a queer kid a hug. A queer grandma. Maybe you should open the doors of Neverland back up to those with no land. Maybe you should leash the tick-tock croc and tell those without enough time for love, that you'd give up a fraction of your eternity for them.

Maybe unleash the forces of pixie hollow to make beaches bleed green and burgundy, amber and blue, change their bitter rue into a thousand golden hues.

Pride is a Protest, Peter Pan. Not a party. Don't lose sight of how far we've come with how far we still have to go.

So let me tell you a little story about how I got my emerald dress:

Cynthia kissed Elle two days after neither of them went to prom. They were watching a silly movie where the two girls fought each other for a boy's attention, and they decided they were done with that.

They kissed. Elle laughed.

Simple as that.

Now they have a trans daughter, whose access to HRT has been banned by the state, and she doesn't even know which bathroom she'll be able to use once school resumes in August.

My goal's not to paint them as helpless victims in this situation, but maybe this will make you see my point--people in that house aren't laughing.

People in that house are stressing about if they'll need to move in the next two months.

So throw your pride parade, Peter. Hand out sparkly pixie dust to those who could afford to come. Make a foam float float. Let your lost boys eat cake, and run amuck with their pride flags and stickers.

But I--I will be protesting this pride.

Tinker Bell out.