Romeo || Edmund Pevensie

Rebel Rebel

Darkness had fallen promptly over London at seven, and by eight the air was filled with the abundance of overhead German engines and ferocious fury. Fire rampaged through the streets, mocking the helpless, and victimising the terrified. There had never been a scene more terrifying than this, as bombs infiltrated every day people and their every day lives.

Many had hidden themselves in shelters as soon as the first air raid siren was heard, following the strict rules as they were often told. But in Finchley, as the bombs dropped, there was one boy who defied everything.

Edmund Pevensie was only thirteen years old, and in the same way that most of the boys his age were infatuated by war, he loved Shakespeare. But his collection of comedies and plays lay forgotten beside stacks of framed photographs of the family, the bombs edged closer to his house, and he stared out of the windows. The curtains had yet to be closed, so as the flames rose into the air, hit dark eyes lit up.

It had only been going on for a month or so, but he had always wanted to see how the destruction really took place. He hadn't realised how gruesome it truly was just yet, but when he did, he was sure to be conflicted.

Helen, Edmund's mother, didn't usually care about her youngest son staying up late. Usually, he was submerged in literature, and unable to remove himself from it. This time it was different, and they all could feel it. He'd never been so enthralled before in his life, and he'd never been inside of the house during a bombing.

But that was exactly what was happening.

Edmund was sat far too close to the window, and that's as the root of the nights problems.

As the shells edged closer and closer, the fire grew in clusters so great that nothing could amount to it. It was then that Helen had rushed into the room, horror etched on her face as she saw her son.

"Edmund!" Her voice cried out, pained. "Get away from there!"

Dragging her son from the window, Helen viciously pulled the curtains closed, blocking whatever small light in their home happened to behold, from the outside world.

"Peter!" A strangled cry escaped her throat, begging her eldest son to take away the younger, before she scolded too harshly. "What do you think you're doing?"

When a fairly tall, blonde teen ram into the room, both fright and caution plastered across his face, the atmosphere shifted. There was more urgency now. They knew that they had to leave.

Helen commanded, taking control because no one else would. "Peter, quickly, the shelter! Now!"

Exasperated, he grappled for his young brother, and wrapped Edmund beneath his arms. "Come on!"

"Wait!" The black haired boy tried to turn back, his fingers outstretched, but just falling short of the photograph that had been beside him. "No!"

"Come on, leave it."

Within seconds, the family of five were running through the cold garden, most of them barefoot. The two sisters had joined onto them, one either side of Edmund in age, but they couldn't hear a thing.

Engines rattled so loudly that as they scaled the space between the back door and the Anderson shelter, none of the words that left their lips travelled further than a few feet. Edmund didn't know if what was being yelled was directed towards him or not, but as soon as he felt Peter's grip loosen on his arms, he took the chance.