Narnia was in ruins. Aslan was gone, the animals sad and brokenhearted. I looked around in my imagined world, and saw the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. Lucy, lay lifeless on the ground; Susan was lightly bleeding from the head, dead as well; and Peter, Peter was most painful. He was stabbed in the stomach, just exactly as I was before. And he was dead. Gone. It wasn't fair. I'd lived, and now he was just gone.
I opened my eyes quickly, shaking my head to get rid of my nightmare. I watched my brother slowly edge towards the place where the battle took place. I watched as he walked to his might-be death. I took one breath. One single breath. Before the plunge.
Good luck. Good luck, Peter. I love you, you know. I do, even if you think I'm probably the worst, most selfish, ignorant, uncaring, ugly, mean, dumbest brother ever, and I don't deserve to be welcomed into Narnia. Yes, I still love you, and I don't know what Narnia will be once you die. That's what I wanted to say. I even opened my mouth, but this is what happened instead:
"Good luck, Pete."
Peter just shook his head, and wielded his sword. I held back the tears in my eyes, knowing I'm just a disappointment to him. Knowing everyone can't help but hate me. I hated myself, even. Why? Why does it have to be me, every time?
Peter stepped onto the battlefield, and I closed my eyes.
I didn't want to watch the nightmare unfold right before my eyes. It was already happening in my head, anyways.