Saturday, January 18, 2014

I Dreamed of Susan

I spent a huge part of my childhood in Narnia. We went to the library every week, and every week I had one or two of the library bound books, over and over. These where the first covers...

Later, my father traveled in Canada and was able to purchase the Penguin paperbacks years before paperbacks were available here. They had stunning covers, wrap arounds.

Last night I fell asleep on the couch and I dreamed of Susan...

At the age of twenty one in 1949, Susan is left alone, when all the friends of Narnia and her parents, also, are killed in a horrific train crash.

Before the holiday I read a wonderful blog post about Susan:

 Since reading that, there has been a constant train of thought in the back of my mind about Susan.

Susan is the same age as my mother, twenty one in 1949, the year of the train wreck. S0 in the fifties, she would have been a young woman... alone, the sole survivor of her family, but also the sole survivor of Narnia.

I think she drank a lot. Flirted with an Italian Conti. Went to the Riviera. Skied the Alps. Gambled in Monaco. Sophisticated, beautiful --and shut down inside.

Once a Queen
The Story of Susan I, Queen of the Restoration
Melisse Aires

In Honor of the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis

This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Chronicles of Narnia World, which is trademarked by C.S.Lewis. Susan Pevensie, Aslan and other characters are created and owned by C.S.Lewis, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Narnia. The story I tell here about Susan is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of C.S.Lewis’ story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am not profiting financially from this work and write the story simply for the love of Narnia. And because Susan won't leave me alone.

The Rings.

Susan woke abruptly in the predawn light, heart pounding, pain throbbing through her head. Mouth dry. She fumbled with the covers and stumbled to the vanity chair, switching on the small lamp. Hands shaking, she lit a cigarette.

The rings...What happened to Digory Kirke's rings? 

They had them, that last day.

Edmund, forgiving, hopeful Edmund, ever determined to draw her back, back to the green forests that forged his character, back to a place that didn't exist. He’d called her, tried to persuade her to join them, to use the rings. For the aid of Narnia.

“Oh, Edmund, really! You must give up that childish game. It will send you all to the madhouse!” She laughed and hung up on him, even though she too had see the haunting image of a King of Narnia in her dreams.

It didn’t send them to the madhouse, though. It sent them to the morgue, broken and still, faces showing waxen and grey against crisp white sheets. All of them.

She’d been the only one left to identify the bodies.

It was really the last time she’d acted like a queen, in grief and dignity arranging the funerals, attending them in tasteful black, settling their many affairs.

And then she’d found a beach in Greece and bottles and bottles of wine.

Sometimes, alone in the stark morning light, staring at her bloodshot eyes and the smeared remains of lipstick blurring the lines of her lips in the vanity mirror, her stomach roiling from too much wine, she could face the truth.

She'd been a Queen in Narnia...and then, nothing.

And now, totally alone.

The rings.

 The coroner had sent her a parcel, belongings of the dead. She'd never opened it. It was somewhere in the house. Mrs Hatcher was still there, dusting the house, running the furnace, making sure the roof didn't leak. She would know where that parcel was.


 I will be continuing this story on Wattpad, even though it has awful formatting...

No comments:

Post a Comment