A/N: I feel like writing a review to myself:this sucks. This isn't edited nor beta-ed nor well thought out... I was just really depressed one day and scrawled this into my notebook...there's something wrong with my modem-it works sometimes it doesn't others so I have to post whatever I can whenever I can...just out of curiosity-how many of you read authors notes?
1949.06.14 3:16 p.m.
Edmund looked down at his watch and frowned. The train was 15 minutes behind schedule. Peter chuckled softly and tousled his hair. A
minute later, he looked out the window to see the train approaching the station. Good, they were arriving.
...And then- there were no words to describe it. There was a jolt, a screeching clanging noise followed by the strangest sensation, as if he were falling sideways…Edmund felt glass rain down on him and he was vaguely aware of Peter diving over him, protecting him, shielding him….from what? Before he had fully realized it, he was trapped under a mass of rubble, pain all over his body...there was an accident… something went wrong...Peter…Instinctively his hands reached out, searching for his brother. His left hand came into contact with warm flesh. Edmund turned his head, groaning as he did so, and saw his elder brother looking back at him, barely moving, no sign of recognition on his blood-stained face. He squeezed the hand and there was a faint press in return. He wanted to say 'hang on' but he could barely move let alone speak. He could feel blood dripping down his temple. There was a pain in his leg, hurting in a familiar way…
He rolled his eyes sideways, the only part of him that could move without hurting, and saw a woman. A parasol had gone straight through her stomach. He closed his eyes and had a sudden vision of a man lying on the battlefield, gored to death by a spear… Peter's hand twitched and he grasped the hand more tightly. Hang on Peter…if you can find the strength to live then somehow, I will too …hang on… He fought the urge to pass out, to give in to the darkness that threatened to engulf him. It took him all his remaining strength to stay conscious, stay in this world…
...After a while he became aware the hand he was holding had gone cold, he could no longer hear the sound of the shallow breathing. He squeezed the hand. No response. Again. Nothing.
Peter Pevensie was dead.
There was nothing in this world to make him want to stay now, nothing to fight for. There was no need to linger anymore. It was time to go on.
P.S. If anyone found this chapter the least bit interesting let me know. All sorts of reviews are welcome.