"You say you love rain, but you open your umbrella.
You say you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot.
You say you love the wind, but you close your windows.
That is why I am afraid, You say that you love me too."
William Shakespeare
September 19th, 1949:
If she had ever hoped to find another person as like Caspian the Tenth as possible, David Munro was it. He was tall with black hair, brown eyes and a tan complexion. The one thing missing was the smooth accent, which reminded her of Spain. The only thing wrong with all this was that Caspian the Tenth was a fantastic, wonderful, - dreamy, if she allowed herself to go that far - figment of her imagination.
She tried not to think of Narnia, because it was a child's game, a play-world. She remembered when she had told that to Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace and his friend Jill; that those two had paled and looked visibly shaken. They had told her not to forget, and to keep playing, because that world was so much better than this one.
She hated this world of hers, it was true, but what was the sense in keeping on with Narnia when she could never return? She had loved Narnia, but it seemed to her that that world, that Aslan himself, did not return her affection. So, she did the only thing she could think of in retaliation, forget. She had loved, and nothing was given back.
Peter and Edmund were rather silent as they dropped her off at the party. Well, a get-together really, for all the post-graduating students at Dartmore College. She closed the door on the navy Hudson with a little force, to show that she was slightly put-out by the way they'd been treating her lately.
Before she could start up the front walk though, Peter called out to her from the driver's side window.
"Sue, wait a moment, please." His blue eyes were beseeching, and she wondered for a moment whether or not she should ignore him. But the gentleness she had practiced to a fine quality for seventeen years won out. She walked back to him. Her black heels echoed in the evening fall air.
"Yes, Peter?" She bent at the waist slightly, to see into the window better, her raven locks falling from her shoulders to frame her face. She could see that Edmund had climbed up front to take her seat already.
Peter Pevensie studied his sister, smiling with a hint of remembrance. She was just as beautiful as she had always been in times past; black hair, striking blue eyes, pale complexion. He only wished she wouldn't wear so much rouge, it looked like she was trying too hard. But, that was merely his opinion.
"Nothing, just, I love you sis, and, I want the best for you, always. You've grown so fast and I feel like you've left me behind. Remember when you used to call for me to slow down? Well, I wish I had told you that a time or two now," Peter finished.
"I love you too, Peter. Whatever you're going to do, just be careful tonight, and, well, I suppose I want to wish you the best of luck," she added, before turning and starting back up the walk.
As she walked away, Peter watched her go in safely, but, as he watched he quoted a few lines he'd learnt in college; they now reminded him strongly of Susan.
"You say you love the rain, but you open your umbrella,"
May, 3rd, 1946:
"Come on Sue! Come dance in the rain!" Lucy called, laughing and running after Edmund in the spring shower, jumping in several puddles. Peter stopped and looked up at his sister, who was watching them from the porch, and smiled as he tried to catch his breath enough to speak.
"You always loved the rain Sue, come on, for old times' sake?" He pleaded with her. Lucy brushed past him, Edmund chasing her, causing Peter to stumble backwards a bit, but he quickly righted himself.
"I do love the rain," Susan admitted, taking a few hesitant steps toward the stairs leading to the garden.
"Well then, come on!" Peter encouraged, turning back to the game of tag Edmund and Lucy had going, with Edmund as "it".
Susan grabbed an umbrella and joined them. Peter looked at her when she finally came down to stand next to him as he paused again.
"I thought you loved the rain, now you're hiding from it?" He teased, not knowing this was only the beginning of her changes.
September 19th, 1949:
"You say you love the sun, but you find a shadowy spot," Peter quoted as she walked farther away, farther out of his grasp and protection, it seemed.
August 14th, 1946:
They were at the professor's again; he had managed to gain enough money after the war and with a little help from Peter, who now had a job, to buy back his country estate. They all agreed to spend the first holiday they got out there, at the lake and walking the well-worn paths surrounding it and the house.
Peter, Lucy and Edmund were practically running out the door and into the fresh air, and, surprisingly, a gloriously sunny day. Peter stopped his headlong sprint when he noticed one of their set was missing. Turning to the house, he dashed up the front stairs again, shouting behind him for Lucy and Edmund to wait there.
He came back out dragging Susan by the hand. She was fussing and complaining. "Oh Peter, must you really do this? I came here only because you asked me to, not because I wanted to; don't make it any worse than it is."
"One walk, just one; then, I promise, you can stay inside all you want, listening to Digory talk about his teaching days," Peter coaxed, trying to get her off the porch.
"But I'll tire quickly and you'll all regret me slowing you down," she protested, trying to think of any reason why not to go.
"Stuff and nonsense!" Peter replied, getting her to stumble haltingly down the last step. She held her hand over her face and eyes.
"I don't want to burn in this lovely sun." Susan smiled as she once more tried to beg off. "Come on, you love the sun, we both know it." He grinned, trying to get her to smile again.
"Very well, let's go," She replied, quickly walking past him and into the shade of the trees. She stayed there the entire time while they fooled around like they had in the old days. How she had once loved the sun. Queen of the Southern Sun no more, it seemed though.
September 19th, 1949:
"You say you love the wind, but you close your windows," Peter whispered the third verse as she climbed the porch stairs, knowing she was going from his world and that of her siblings, relatives, and friends forever.
June 7th, 1948:
"I'm closing this window!" Susan shouted from the room she had been reading in. It was a windy June day, and all the windows in Kirke's house were open, to let in the wonderful summer breeze. Edmund and Peter ran by the door, but backtracked when she shouted.
"Why? I thought you were just telling us this morning that you loved a good strong wind," Edmund reminded her.
"I've changed my mind, it's annoying when I'm trying to read, it keeps turning the pages when I'm not ready; that, or blowing my hair back in my face," She retorted, reaching up for the window sash.
Edmund shrugged and moved off while Peter watched her close the window with a forlorn smile. She used to not care about the wind mussing her hair or turning her pages. But now it seemed that was all in the past. As she sat back down in her chair to read again, Peter turned away.
September 19th, 1949:
"That is why I am afraid, you say that you love me too," Peter finished as the door to the house opened and another young lady, just as finely dressed, admitted her with a laugh and a smile. He shook his head and pulled the shift, turned the engine over and spun the wheel, steering away from the curb.
"Now, where did Digory say that house was?" He glanced from the road to look over at Edmund.
"I believe he said it was located somewhere between 12th and 7th streets," Edmund replied, taking a map from the glove compartment.
~|London Times|~
Massive train wreck in underground London tunnels!
Over 900 dead! Officials believe this catastrophe is due to old tracks.
Thousands mourn the loss of friends and loved ones.
Even after such a bloody war England still continues to lose her sons and daughters,
But this time, from her own causes.
(Read all about it on pg. 6)
Identified & Certified Dead, in Alphabetical Order:
~o0o~
Susan quickly scanned the list of those dead, she felt dizzy when her eyes found Digory and Polly's names listed, and she quickly turned the paper to the next page, looking for the Ps. She let out a strangled gasp when she found her father and mother's names listed. Not far down was Edmund's name, then Lucy's. She looked frantically for Peter's, but his was not to be found.
She knew, though, that there was no reason to hope, there were still hundreds more unidentified, and the newspapers would publish the latest lists as soon as they got word of them. Her eyes once again fell on the names, and she let out a heart-rending sob when she noticed Eustace's and his friend Jill's names as well.
She collapsed to the ground when the reality of her situation began to sink in. She cried in the vestibule for an hour straight, realizing that all she loved in this world was taken from her now as well. Soon though, she dressed and regained a semblance of control.
Not long after, the phone in the hall rang. The constable on the other line asked if she was related to the Pevensies of Finchley. She answered with a short yes. The man said that though it was macabre, she had to come down to the train station and see if there were any bodies she could identify for them of her family.
She said she would come.
September 28th, 1949:
The day she laid nine coffins in the ground was one Susan would not soon forget. Harold and Alberta were away in Scotland on business, and hadn't been able to catch a train soon enough, but they would be there in six days' time at the latest, they had telegraphed her.
Jill's parents decided, because Jill had been such a good friend of the Pevensies and Eustace, that she would've wanted to be buried next to them, if anything like this happened, which it had. Amazingly, they had been able to have open caskets at the service.
Susan would never forget finding Peter. Walking through all those dead, torn, at times even blackened, bodies lying on white stretchers, and then seeing Peter, who looked merely asleep; a faint smile on his face; as if dying was not something he had feared. His watch hadn't even broken, which had reduced her to uncontrollable tears. The only thing wrong was how pale he looked, how utterly, for the first time, lifeless, he was.
"Oh Peter, wait for me, please," she whispered brokenly through her tears, straightening his lapels. She stood back up; though she loathed the idea of leaving him. Old habits and all. She returned to walking through the bodies, looking for everyone else.
All of them, even Mother and Dad, had appeared nearly perfect besides being dead. She wanted to shout for them to wake up, but knew it would do no good to lose her head like that. Then there was Edmund and Lucy. Dear Edmund, dear Lucy. Edmund with his black hair curling back from his forehead in that annoying fashion he so hated. And then there was Lucy, with a smile as bright as the dawn; though she had passed from that world hours ago. Her blonde-brown hair spilled around her head, framing her face.
~o0o~
It had only been a few close relatives and friends attending the service, although, there were not many of those, the war had claimed so many men on her frontlines, and the women and children had been claimed by bombers. About fifteen people had been present, and several men who had been taught by Kirke in their younger years.
Susan had remained in control of her countenance until they were about to bury the caskets. She stumbled forward, her black dress rippling in the gentle breeze as a few raindrops started to fall. She looked up, the sky was blue with a smattering of soft white clouds, but still, there were raindrops. Her hand passed over the polished dark wood of Peter's casket.
She knelt in the grass next to it and laid her head down on the glossy surface.
"Oh, Peter, you are once again going on ahead of me. But I fear I shall never catch up. And now I cannot even call for you to wait," she whispered as her tears slowly fell.
"You are the oldest, you were supposed to wait, and you always would before. I missed so much trying to act like a grown-up, didn't I? And you tried to tell me, you tried to get me to come back, tried to tell me I was going too far, but I refused to listen. How childish I am, though I never knew it until now. Oh, Peter, for one more chance with you I would give the world if I could. I am so sorry, brother."
Jill's mother and father, Keith and Molly, came over to her and helped her up, Molly's arm around Susan's waist, trying to offer solace, even though there was none to be found; the older woman herself in tears. Keith stared blankly as the diggers slowly lowered the caskets.
"My little girl; I never told her what a fine young woman she was becoming. So kind, so happy," he murmured, his hazel eyes filling with tears, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotions.
"Oh darling, I never dreamed she would be going on before me," Molly whispered.
"Neither did I," Keith replied, his voice cracking.
Susan said nothing; her pain was far deeper than she cared to voice.
March, 1950:
Six months had passed, and Susan was now sure she could go through her sibling's and parent's belongings without too many tears and pain. She climbed the stairs, walking past pictures of her family. She could not bear to remove them. David Munro was a kind friend in these harsh, changing times. She treasured his friendship, now more than ever, realizing how fast it could go.
After two days going through her parent's things, and then three and a half going through Edmund and Lucy's as well, she was finally going to have to do Peter's. She took a deep breath as she entered the room, looking nearly as if her oldest brother hadn't left it but five seconds ago, if not for the dusty haze. She started in the closet, with his clothes.
She looked at all the sweaters, shoes, jackets and pants, wondering how she would ever do this. It felt as if she was erasing them from existence, that if she did this, she was blotting out their lives in this world. Would she forget after all their things were gone? She did not want to forget them as she had their beloved Narnia. The thought terrified her.
She reached for one of six small boxes on the top shelf. As she pulled the middle one down, however, a book fell from under it. Tucking the box under her arm, she stooped to pick it up. It was a black leather-bound journal of some sort. She placed the box on the comforter and sat beside it on the bed, book in hand. The silver clasp opened with a click.
The book opened easily to its many leaves. She flipped through them slowly, sometimes touching Peter's bold black handwriting with a gentle finger. After going several pages into it, she stopped at one of them with words strongly underlined and her name in smaller writing below.
You say you love rain, but you open your umbrella.
You say you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot.
You say you love the wind, but you close your windows.
That is why I am afraid; you say that you love me, too. ~ William Shakespeare.
What has happened to Susan? She has forgotten. Everything to her is now a game, a silly, childish fantasy that she dislikes I have and share with Edmund, Lucy, Eustace, Jill, Polly and Digory. I don't know what to do. I was reading this the other day and I realized that she has done every single one of these things to me or to us. I am so afraid; she says she loves all of us, what if she doesn't truly mean it? What if she forgets what love feels like? I fear we have lost her.
Susan's tears slid down her cheeks as she read the words. Oh how blind she had been to him! He had only been concerned about her and for her, as he had been since that fateful day at the station, when Mum had told him to protect them. He had kept his promise far better than she could have imagined, Susan thought with a little cry, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
She closed the book and held it close. She was a fool, a royal fool. How stupid she had been, how utterly wrong! And now, now, there was no going back, no fixing, no mending that she could ever hope to do. He had died believing she was lost to them, and she could not change that.
She stood, the room must be finished. But the book she would keep. She would not fail her brother, she would change, and this time, for the better.
A/N:
Well, please tell me what you think in the box below. This was originally going to be a drabble, but it became far too long, so, I turned it into a one-shot. I know it's rather macabre, but, well, I was in the mood to write something dark and depressing.
I loved writing the burial scene, I cried so hard as I wrote it that I could barely see the screen while I typed. Again, please tell me what you think in the box below; all comments will be welcome, except flames or short one-liners such as these:
Good.
Liked it.
Cool.
Nicely done.
And etcetera, I will no longer take such things, FFN is a place where writers have come together to help each other on their writing WHILE they read one another's writings, not to just read stories like they would read a book. That manner of thinking helps no one become better. I am trying to work on this myself, it is something a vast majority needs to do, and I am not excluding myself either, nor will I go around pointing fingers.