1. There is only their mother to see them off from the train station, but Susan is not surprised; most of their school friends have already been evacuated and have already said their goodbyes. There is an emptiness, however, where Laura should have been--Laura who ran faster than any of the boys, Laura who laughed at even the silliest jokes, Laura who pressed a kiss to Susan's cheek after Janice poured paint on Susan's dress and sneered. Kind, lovely Laura, whose house disappeared into a crater after the bombing one night.
Let Peter and Edmund grumble about being sent away; Susan is glad to be leaving London and only hopes the hole in her heart remains here as she travels to the countryside.
2. Lucy's cordial can't save everyone after the battle is done; the dying are spread too far for even the most lionhearted girl to reach them all. That's what Susan reminds herself as she cups the handful of petals left behind as Sinoe disappears from her grasp, the spear in her belly falling with a dull thump against the grass. She'd only just got the epimeliad's head onto her lap when she breathed her last without a single word passed between them. She remembers Laura, bright and smiling, and remembers whispering, soothing Sinoe, and wonders that if maybe she could have just gotten to either of them sooner, then maybe this emptiness wouldn't be chewing away at her insides.
3. They all come tumbling out of the wardrobe, like falling ninepins; Susan needs a moment to collect herself. She turns and looks back at the wardrobe and thinks about how Mister Tumnus is going to be sitting down to the tea party she'd invited him to and wonder where they were. She thinks about Owain, who was the best dancer in the court, who had kissed her so sweetly, who she whispered to Lucy about in a fit of girlish glee because if there was any man she would take as husband, then it had to be him. She thinks about all the people who are going to be wondering just where they are right about now and she feels the emptiness yawning open inside her again.
4. In spite of the fact that she did wave and wish them well, Susan still feels cheated and empty when she gets the phone call of the derailing, the most horrific train crash in recent memory they say. She got to kiss Edmund and Lucy's cheeks, give Peter's hand a passing squeeze, and hugged her parents before they left, but as she sits at the funeral, she wants to wrench the coffins open and demand something more. But there's only this--five coffins, one of which only really contains pieces, and that sticks in her craw too--and the emptiness.
One would think she would be used to this, but that's a foolish thought, because it can never be enough.
I have trouble following rules, so you get a lot of four sentence pieces
Let Peter and Edmund grumble about being sent away; Susan is glad to be leaving London and only hopes the hole in her heart remains here as she travels to the countryside.
2. Lucy's cordial can't save everyone after the battle is done; the dying are spread too far for even the most lionhearted girl to reach them all. That's what Susan reminds herself as she cups the handful of petals left behind as Sinoe disappears from her grasp, the spear in her belly falling with a dull thump against the grass. She'd only just got the epimeliad's head onto her lap when she breathed her last without a single word passed between them. She remembers Laura, bright and smiling, and remembers whispering, soothing Sinoe, and wonders that if maybe she could have just gotten to either of them sooner, then maybe this emptiness wouldn't be chewing away at her insides.
3. They all come tumbling out of the wardrobe, like falling ninepins; Susan needs a moment to collect herself. She turns and looks back at the wardrobe and thinks about how Mister Tumnus is going to be sitting down to the tea party she'd invited him to and wonder where they were. She thinks about Owain, who was the best dancer in the court, who had kissed her so sweetly, who she whispered to Lucy about in a fit of girlish glee because if there was any man she would take as husband, then it had to be him. She thinks about all the people who are going to be wondering just where they are right about now and she feels the emptiness yawning open inside her again.
4. In spite of the fact that she did wave and wish them well, Susan still feels cheated and empty when she gets the phone call of the derailing, the most horrific train crash in recent memory they say. She got to kiss Edmund and Lucy's cheeks, give Peter's hand a passing squeeze, and hugged her parents before they left, but as she sits at the funeral, she wants to wrench the coffins open and demand something more. But there's only this--five coffins, one of which only really contains pieces, and that sticks in her craw too--and the emptiness.
One would think she would be used to this, but that's a foolish thought, because it can never be enough.