Could Have, Should Have, Didn't - A Narnia Fanfiction

Chapter One: Leaving... Again

Dead. It was lifeless.

Blurred, clouded, and dim. Stone, damped, and the place he was supposed to call home.

Cold. So cold. So very cold.

And walking down the bleary streets of London strolled little, insignificant him. Edmund Pevensie.

Not King Edmund the Just. Only Edmund; sometimes Ed. Only Edmund who was less than. Less than Peter.

The air, smelling wet and musty, blew into his face, and lifted his coat. When he looked up, the sky was stamped out and grey— like always. A vignette of clouds.

Along the road, on the sidewalk, people with grim faces rushed about, but there was never an animal. The paved, coarse streets allowed for no wildlife to grow, or exist.

Because this was not Narnia, this was real life. London. Dreary, war-torn London. Boring and mundane.

A frosty surge of sweat circled his forehead and drained all color left in his cheeks.

The familiar London shops lined his vision, surrounding him in an empty nostalgia.

He should get back to his cousin's house. Should stop pitying himself like this. Should care. But what good what it do?

If he returned, the rest of everyone would be eating breakfast and getting ready to leave.

No more waking up to take his daily walk and see the grey buildings, to see the many clocks around, all ticking slowly, to see the people, rushed as they always were.

Leave. He swallowed hard. Lucy would be expecting him back right about now. If he didn't go... he'd mess up everything. They'd been planning to leave for America today for weeks. Every one of their friends who'd be accompanying them had stayed overnight— although, some had already been boarding with them.

After weeks of buying and planning and stressing, they were all headed off to America. He felt strange. They'd spent more minutes packing— when they'd lived in London for their whole lives. Shouldn't they have more?

But, they didn't. They were poor. Clothes and small items were all they had collected over the years.

Headlights bright and shiny, a car honked at another. Time to head home.

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Sure enough, Lucy stood in the living room when he entered and watched him shrug off his coat.

Lu sighed. "Isn't it strange? Yesterday, this would have been your usual daily walk. But now it's your last."

Rita Alden appeared next to Lucy, a bowl in her hands, Jill Pole and Edith Winterblott on either side.

He chose not to acknowledge the girl in the middle and grunted. "Looked the same. London never changes."

He wasn't sure if he liked that fact or not.

Lucy nodded his way. "You're just in time to bring everyone down for breakfast."

"Right. I'll be down in a few." Then he scurried up the stairs and into Eustace's room. Grateful to escape.

His eyes slid across the room slowly. All were sleeping peacefully— something he longed for. Uninterrupted rest— no memories, no regrets— no bad dreams to haunt his mind.

On makeshift beds of sheets and covers, under the window, Timothy and Robert Jackle slept, the younger one, Robert squirming silently, blanket half on and half off.

Edmund's bed lay empty. No one slept in it. Not even Peter. Because Peter now resided in America with Susan.

The older ones, the favorites— the lucky ones.