(no subject)
Title: Phantasmagoria (one-shot)
Pairing: Lucy/Tumnus
Warning: Character Death
Summary: A question no one can answer, answered.
crossposted: tumnuslucy_fans, personal journal, fanfiction.net
Phantasmagoria
Since you asked me once when we were still young, I will answer your question now that I know.
“Lucy,” you said, wonderingly, late at night, “what does one see just before they die?”
We’d both heard it’s like a movie of sorts: a film of your life played in fast forward. The most important bits-learning to walk, your eighteenth birthday, your first kiss, your graduation, your son’s birth. Your husband’s death. Your daughter’s wedding. That’s what’s expected. You watch your short movie and then wait for the light to take you in.
I didn’t see either of my lives. I couldn’t-one of my lives hadn’t been lived long enough. The other wasn’t over, only beginning.
I never asked Peter or Edmund what they saw. I didn’t think it was something I had the right to know. I’m sure they would tell me, should I ask, but it’s their movie. Not mine. It’s a movie for only them to watch.
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I was a part of it, though.
I died in a train wreck three days before my eighteenth birthday. My brothers and my parents were killed instantly. I bled to death, impaled on a steel poll. My liver and stomach and one of my lungs were punctured. It sounds all very gory and upsetting to say it, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t remember any of it. I was too busy watching my film.
We knew before it happened that we probably wouldn’t make it. There was about twenty seconds of waiting, before our bodies flew sideways and everything went white.
Does this mean I chose my last vision on Earth? Did I make the decision to see what I did? I remember Peter lunging for Ed and I, then a screech of metal on metal. A horrible clang and shudder. My movie started. I felt as if I were floating.
It was not a thousand memories squeezed into a second. It was one stretched out forever, going on for as long as I was able to look.
It was cold and ice floated upon the gray ocean. I stood on the beach, watching the sun rise, when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned.
I watched myself smile. I watched him duck his head, sheepishly, curls golden in the winter light.
“They told me you were here,” said his voice from far away.
“I like the ocean on mornings like this,” I said in reply.
“It’s Christmas, you know,” he told the memory of me. His hooves slid in the loose, white sand.
“I know.”
“I haven’t a gift for you. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Tumnus,” I watched myself tell him. “You’ve given me enough over the years.”
“I was going to say something,” he announced, looking pale.
“What’s that?” I asked him. I watched my hair blowing. Outside of my movie, I heard Peter gurgle indistinctly, somewhere above me, and then felt him lie still.
“You’re beautiful,” Tumnus blurted out to the memory of me. It was not the first time in my life someone had told me that.
It was the first time I believed it.
And I felt warm as I watched the youngest queen of Narnia lean up and kiss the man she loved the most of all. My body felt tight (I imagine it’s the way a snake must feel when it’s time to shed its skin).
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Tumnus told me (not the memory of me), close by my ear. The world went white.
And then suddenly I stepped through a doorway and there he was. And here I am.
Susan, to you, this is only a dream. You are sick with fever, yes, I know-but, Susan, make a good movie. I wish for you a beautiful life.
We’ll be waiting for you.
Pairing: Lucy/Tumnus
Warning: Character Death
Summary: A question no one can answer, answered.
crossposted: tumnuslucy_fans, personal journal, fanfiction.net
Phantasmagoria
Since you asked me once when we were still young, I will answer your question now that I know.
“Lucy,” you said, wonderingly, late at night, “what does one see just before they die?”
We’d both heard it’s like a movie of sorts: a film of your life played in fast forward. The most important bits-learning to walk, your eighteenth birthday, your first kiss, your graduation, your son’s birth. Your husband’s death. Your daughter’s wedding. That’s what’s expected. You watch your short movie and then wait for the light to take you in.
I didn’t see either of my lives. I couldn’t-one of my lives hadn’t been lived long enough. The other wasn’t over, only beginning.
I never asked Peter or Edmund what they saw. I didn’t think it was something I had the right to know. I’m sure they would tell me, should I ask, but it’s their movie. Not mine. It’s a movie for only them to watch.
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I was a part of it, though.
I died in a train wreck three days before my eighteenth birthday. My brothers and my parents were killed instantly. I bled to death, impaled on a steel poll. My liver and stomach and one of my lungs were punctured. It sounds all very gory and upsetting to say it, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t remember any of it. I was too busy watching my film.
We knew before it happened that we probably wouldn’t make it. There was about twenty seconds of waiting, before our bodies flew sideways and everything went white.
Does this mean I chose my last vision on Earth? Did I make the decision to see what I did? I remember Peter lunging for Ed and I, then a screech of metal on metal. A horrible clang and shudder. My movie started. I felt as if I were floating.
It was not a thousand memories squeezed into a second. It was one stretched out forever, going on for as long as I was able to look.
It was cold and ice floated upon the gray ocean. I stood on the beach, watching the sun rise, when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned.
I watched myself smile. I watched him duck his head, sheepishly, curls golden in the winter light.
“They told me you were here,” said his voice from far away.
“I like the ocean on mornings like this,” I said in reply.
“It’s Christmas, you know,” he told the memory of me. His hooves slid in the loose, white sand.
“I know.”
“I haven’t a gift for you. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Tumnus,” I watched myself tell him. “You’ve given me enough over the years.”
“I was going to say something,” he announced, looking pale.
“What’s that?” I asked him. I watched my hair blowing. Outside of my movie, I heard Peter gurgle indistinctly, somewhere above me, and then felt him lie still.
“You’re beautiful,” Tumnus blurted out to the memory of me. It was not the first time in my life someone had told me that.
It was the first time I believed it.
And I felt warm as I watched the youngest queen of Narnia lean up and kiss the man she loved the most of all. My body felt tight (I imagine it’s the way a snake must feel when it’s time to shed its skin).
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Tumnus told me (not the memory of me), close by my ear. The world went white.
And then suddenly I stepped through a doorway and there he was. And here I am.
Susan, to you, this is only a dream. You are sick with fever, yes, I know-but, Susan, make a good movie. I wish for you a beautiful life.
We’ll be waiting for you.