Narnia in the Middle of the Earth
Author's Note: Inspired by the friendship between C.S Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Take this "history" with a grain of salt. I am researching as I go along. This is a free-writing exercise on an idea that I've had for a while. (Note, this first chapter was written a while ago)
If wondering on who I am, simply put that I am a figment of Jack's imagination. A very real and very conversational conscious if you will. I think I'm a mouse, but I'm not sure, he hasn't given me details yet.
Apparently, Jack has been writing a book recently. While he was walking towards his classroom, for he was a teacher back in those days, I sat on his shoulder. I asked him what the book was about, for I knew that there was something being written in his head, I just didn't know exactly what it was.
He answered, "It's called The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. A children's book."
I looked at him a bit puzzled, for I saw no future in it. For the idea of children's literature coming out of him seemed-almost laughable.
"Now, I may be in your head," I said, "but a children's book sounds a bit, well, unstable."
"Oh what do you know?" Jack said looking my way.
"Well," I said answering him, "I know just as much as you, I am in your head after all."
"Well, if you're in my head," he said looking down at me, "then you would read it."
I huffed, a bit annoyed that I was played by myself. "Alright fine, I'll read it." I jumped down from his shoulder and landed on the grass. "By the way, I can read your mind, and Reepicheep is a terrible name."
Jack laughed, "Who said that was your name?"
I sighed and shook my head, "Technically, you did."
Jack laughed again and walked into his place of work with me in tow.
Later that day, he walked to a different house in Oxford called The Inklings. I followed him there of course, once again traveling on his shoulder. I realized that the group was a group of writers, and a man who goes by his initials was there. It was riveting to say the least. Everyone would share their stories and critique them, talk about the English language, things of that sort. Today's meeting was about Jack and his book.
He stood up, a bit nervous, but confident in his work. He spoke in a clear voice,
"Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy..."
Not the names I would have chosen, I thought, but if it puts you to sleep at night, then so be it.
Everyone sat there in silence as the first chapter was orated. I was mesmerized, and kept thinking of ways on how everything would play out. Wardrobes, fauns, magic, all the qualities of folk lore, my specialty area. When Jack was finished, I yearned for him to continue, but the meeting was only an hour so there was a time constraint.
One of the members of this club didn't think so kindly though.
"This is horrible," he said, "you think that people will actually read this?"
"I don't know about people," Tolkien said, "but I would."
"Of course you would, you're busy writing about hobbits and elves, while he's writing about children walking through a magical wardrobe. Ridiculous, the both of you!"
"But it's not about the wardrobe." Lewis replied.
"Oh, then what is it about?" The skeptic said.
I flickered my ears a little looking at this negative person with a bit disdain but retained my calm stability and whispered in Lewis' ear. "It's about finding the place we come from, looking upon the face of him, realizing that we're not alone."
Lewis just simplified it, saying, "Understanding Christianity, understanding the human spirit, and coming to terms with yourself."
"You sound just like Tolkien over here." The sourhead said. "You're both crazy! Meeting adjourned."
As everyone began to leave, Tolkien walked over to us, or to him rather, for he couldn't see me, and began to comfort him.
"I thought it was good." Tolkien said.
"You're my friend John, you can tell me." Lewis said.
"Speaking truthfully?" Tolkien asked. "I thought it was very good." Tolkien walked out the door, saying to himself. "There once was a hole in the ground, in which lived a hobbit."
As this John fellow left the room, I saw a band of short men with extremely hairy feet that were dressed to the nines and an older gentlemen with a wooden staff follow him out. When we left, a group of four children appeared, I assumed the aforementioned ones. One them, I presumed to be Lucy, was carrying a small lion cub in a basket.