The Bloom ~ *NARNIA*

The beginning.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." – Lao Tzu

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In your head, in your head

They are fightin'

With their tanks

And their bombs,

And their bombs

And their guns.

In your head, in your head

They are crying'

··

To understand this story, you have to go back to the night that started it all. The night which made my mother feel useless against the usual shellfire near our home in Finchley, England. The night which made her feel unable to protect my siblings and I from the real danger caused by the Germans.

To any person who hasn't spent their entire life, or a lot of time in England, it would seem a normal dark and cold night, as it was a country mostly known by its cold and usually rainy weather, especially as it was winter. But for my family, it seemed darker and colder, as if it was warning us of a greater danger ahead.

Because of that I left for bed feeling uneasy, with a bad feeling inside of me. I was so nervous that I could feel my heart beating so fast that sometimes, I thought it possible to break out of my chest.

That night, was so frightful for my family that...

I don't know if I will ever be able to forget it.

Or, at least,

not be scared anymore.

∞

Sirens were heard all around, bombs exploding somewhere near. A boy, no more than 14 years old, with dark brown hair which could be mistaken as raven hair, matching eyes and fair skin adorned with a few freckles, which made his slight blush more noticeable in his high cheekbones, was looking outside the window with an awe expression mixed with fear, trying to see the war that only his ears could pick up.

"Edmund!" a raven haired woman with the same eyes' colour as the boy Edmund, called out in alarm as soon as she saw her son in front of the window. Quickly, the woman ran to him, "Get away from there!" she pushed him gently but quick farther from the window than he was previously and out of anyone from outside's view. As if to be surer, she closed the curtains and called to her eldest, "Peter!" while a golden blonde, blue eyed boy, probably sixteen, run to the room to see what his mother wanted (though having a slight idea thanks to the sirens from outside), the mother grabbed her youngest son's shoulders and desperately asked, "What do you think you're doing?" Her mouth opened again to try and get more common sense to her son when a bomb sounded nearer than before. Too near. "Peter, quickly, the shelter." When none of them moved she yelled out again. This time firmer, "Now!"