Forsaken
Disclaimer: I own nothing. CS Lewis created Narnia and her people, I just admire.
Author's N: There is a reason why this one shot is so short... please, please don't bereft me for it!
There was something about the darkness of a blind which evoked helplessness. I felt myself thrown down onto the hard ground without any sort of sense of my whereabouts. Only the ground – cold, slightly damp – almost definitely grit. There was the gruffness of the voice above me, telling me to stop or else I'd be 'taught proper obedience'. A harsh kick to the belly... none of these seemed to awaken any sense of anger in me, only hopeless despair. Perhaps, as my hands were, my soul was manacled in some invisible contraption. Perhaps my heart was tied to some unknown, unseen chain.
Or perhaps I had simply given up.
In my mind's eye I could still see their wide eyes, the horror in them, as I was taken from all that I knew, all that felt true and dear to me. I heard my brother's enraged cry as I was torn from his side, I heard the sickening cracking of skull against rock – so many things I heard that day, but none of them; not even now, made much sense to me.
Aslan, why have you forsaken me?
Author's N: Comments and criticisms are always welcomed.