Odes of Autumn | A Narnia One-Shot Collection

Gold, All I See Is Gold

October 3rd Prompt: Golden

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Late morning sun poured through the open windows, accompanied by a soft autumn breeze. The earthy-sweet aroma of dying cherry blossoms and dew signaling to all the hidden sense of beauty that comes with change.

This combined with a chorus of songbirds, rustling leaves and mourning doves almost, almost reminded Susan of a time long ago and a world even farther.

Time had changed very little on the surface.  Her long brown curls still cascaded like mountain waterfalls after the rain, her brown eyes still a striking contrast to her porcelain-fair skin. One wouldn’t know to look at the surface, just how hollow and empty she had become.

Her heart, an echoing chamber for broken memories, shattered realities and screams of piercing grief.

But not today.

Today was a good day.

It was still.

Today, time could afford the little pleasures, like making tea, reading a chapter out of the latest novel and watering the flower sprouts that were all but gone for the season.

There was no reason to dress today, it was Sunday after all, and she had nowhere to go and no one to entertain.

But try as she might to enjoy the serenity that the rest of the world seemed to bask in, restlessness plagued Susan with every strike of that old grandfather clock.

Tossing aside her novel, she sat and stared at the nothingness that was once her whole world.

Friends had tried to convince her to move after the accident. Family had offered to take her in. But despite the ghosts of the past that faced her around every corner, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the old Finchley home.

It tore apart her very soul, existing among the remains of her previous joy, and still every time she left, it pulled her back.

Owned her.

Sighing in surrender, Susan wrapped her housecoat tighter. Though there wasn’t a hint of chill in the air, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth.

You can hold it together for a few minutes at least.

More an order than affirmation, she repeated this in soft whispers with each stair she ascended toward the attic.

Dust danced in the beams of light that had fought its way through the narrow cracks in the eaves, a playful almost magical flux of sparkle and haze.

Two boxes sat in the middle of the room, their presence like a blot on a canvass among the other, sheet-covered forms that swallowed the rest of the room.

Too much white.

Forcing her feet to move forward, Susan chose a smaller, less ghostly looking shape to approach.

Her breath caught as her fingers grazed the weathered, rough linen and for a moment she faltered.

The blare of a car horn somewhere in the distance sent a rush of adrenaline through her, just enough to send the sheet floating, then flittering through the still air.

The treasure-trunk style box held no markings except a single script letter.

E.

Edmund.

Sighing, Susan sank to the floor and delicately ran her fingers over the initial.

“You would be the one to demand my attention today.” she said scoffingly, though there was a tenderness to the feigned bitterness in her tone.

Pressing the release, the twin brass latches opened with a synchronized pop.

Trinkets of various kinds were littered inside.

A plastic magnifying glass Edmund had definitely spent too much money on, a lightless torch, the feather pen he had proudly plucked from a bothersome goose at the lake. His well-worn Bible, the one with the cross he etched into its cover. Pictures that Susan hurriedly set aside, averting her gaze from the faces staring back at her.

Their faces.

It was almost too much.

Susan rocked back, taking a moment to slow her rapid, storming pulse.

“Look at yourself, Susan.” she scolded without attempting to hide her self-loathing. “Pull it together.”

Straightening her posture and finding that rigid rebellion inside her, she returned to her work, sifting, sorting, discarding.

Reaching the bottom of Edmund’s little treasure chest, she retrieved the final item it contained.

Confusion creased her brow for a moment, for it looked like nothing more than a scrap of cloth and leather.

She turned it over in her hand a few times, tugging and pinching at its corners.

“What in the puzzles of absurdity-”

Before she could finish insulting the inanimate object, a sliver of writing paper slipped through the folds.

A triumphant, girlish grin spread across Susan’s face.

“You cheeky boy...”

Pulling the paper free from its hiding place, Susan unfolded it carefully; a growing sense of intrusive intrigue seemingly unleashed with every opening fold.

The final crease fell open in her hands; Edmund’s distinct, flowery script leaping off the page in an instant.

Susan’s lips tightened as that all-too-familiar sting rose in her throat.

“Gold...all I see is gold.” she began, reading aloud.

Gold, all I see is gold.
From the sparkling sea to the valleys of trees
Yes, everything in between, it’s woven and magic and free.
Every sound, every sunbeam, even the mountain peaks,
Your whisper fills it all, both within and beyond my reach.
It’s in my soul, fool that I am, I know this warmth like my own hand.
Lost and found all at once, with no control and unbound trust.
Take me away into your golden glow, I want to be yours, for it’s all I know.
Cast aside my titles and fame, You lit a fire I cannot tame.
Gold, all I see is gold.

Susan’s hands were shaking.

Somewhere, lost within the rolling tides of those verses, she was sure Edmund’s voice had taken over her own. She could hear his rushed, urgent passion. The frustration in that his words, as beautiful as they were, fell short of the feelings he aimed to pen.

A tear, then another, hit the crumpled page and soon they flowed freely and silently.

There was no anger in these tears.

But she felt them.

Bringing the page up, she held it to her chest, almost wishing she could soak the words up through her skin and into her heart.

Fighting, yet wishing for the source that inspired their golden warmth.

“Damn you.” she whispered into that empty space, her utterance more a thank you than a curse.