Disclaimer: Yes, you've got me, I'm C.S Lewis. Instead of going to the press about my miraculous rising or publishing another Narnia volume or even fixing the god-awful mess that was VOTDT movie, I decided to write myself some fanfiction. Enjoy.

Author's Note: I was feeling stressed one day, this one line in The Last Battle jumped out at me, and thus this story was born.

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"Edmund was the type of person who knew about railways." – The Last Battle

You've heard everyone deals with grief differently. Narnia isn't a person exactly...but losing it still hurts.

So you grieve. You all do. For years.

Everything is better in Narnia; stronger, brighter, happier. When you first arrived, you felt like you'd been living in a Television world full of black and white, and suddenly you were experiencing the real world with light and colours.

Only now you're back again, and it's even more faded and grey and dreary.

(And worse, because you know something better is out there).

How the hell did Aslan expect you to recover from that? He can't just throw you from world to world, and wipe out a lifetime of memories in one fell swoop. Life doesn't work like that!

Did he really expect any of you to move on after Narnia? You had lives there. Subjects and duties and friends.

Why did it he do it? Couldn't you have stayed? (Would dying there really have been that bad?)

Or could you have left earlier? Like, after you defeated the Witch? A quick adventure, an exciting journey and then you're back. Easy. Instead you stayed and let Narnia wrap its tendrils around your soul. So when you were ripped away, your heart was torn open leaving gaping wounds and bloody scars that will never heal over.

And now you're trapped living a half life while knowing it will never match up to what you've already experienced.

And you want to yell and throw things and just give up because Its. Not. Fair.

None of you do though, but it comes close.

Lucy cries. In the woods, at night under the sheets, when she's dancing and every time she sees a cat. The tears are silent, subtle and honest to Aslan, the worst thing you've ever seen.

Susan suppresses. Times passes and she doesn't talk about any of 'it'. It's kind of tragic, except you know Narnia's still in her. You see it when she tilts her chin, or skips a step. In the odd bursts of colour in her sketches. You know and you think it's beautiful.

Peter fights. First at school with his fists, and later at university with blades. The swords at the fencing club are pitiful but they're swords. His elegant, deadly style is a mystery to competitors and he's unbeatable. He competes and trains and works and doesn't stop. On early mornings, you look out of the window and see him parrying and feinting to invisible attackers. The routine is his tie to Narnia and he won't give it up.

And you. You have your bag.

The bag stays with you at school, home and university. In it are random items, meaning nothing to everyone. (Except you). A map of Europe, a tourist guide on Russia, a newspaper clipping about ships lost at sea, a photo of a talking dog in Australia, a book about fauns in Ancient Rome and railway timetables from all over England.

Sometimes things get hard. You want to sob or shut it out or punch something as well. You feel like everything in life is crushing you, but you can't push it off and you're choking. And it's stupid, because everything is so petty anyway. Who cares about exams, or taxes, or fighting parents? There's so much more out there.

When that happens, you take the bag and walk away as far as you can to get away from it all.

Usually, you stop about a mile out and look back. You think about what's in your bag. About searching for snow-covered countries, talking animals and supernatural myths. You're sure if you look hard enough, you'll find Narnia in this world as well.

You think. You turn around. You go home.

Narnia isn't out there in some alien place. Narnia is in Lucy's tears, Susan's denial and Peter's anger.

You'll never forget that.

But still...you've got the bag.

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And all that from one line. I really need to get out more, but I've got this weird obsession with how on earth the Pevensies adjusted back to the real world. Please review!