In the midst of all the hurry flurry in her day, she heard something. She dropped her pen and tried to listen out for it again. The sound was so familiar and yet distant at the same time. She heard it before, she was sure about that.
If she was not wrong, it was the same sound she heard many times before. But each time, the sound seemed to be more faint than the last time she heard it. And the frequency with which it returns seems to be decreasing. She tried listening out for it again.
A roar so regal, and lonely. The pain in the roar was unmistakable, but yet more distinct still was the resolve in it. A roar that sounded deceptively victimized. It was not a roar of defeat, but a roar that struck fear in his attacker. A roar that came from a friend, a familiar friend.
The stone table, the White Witch, Narnia, Aslan… It was all coming back to her now. Aslan, she remembered. Aslan, the lion King of Narnia. Aslan, her friend. Narnia, a place where it was once home…
“Susan! I want the report on my table in the next hour!”
The silence of the roar was broken. The roar was no more. She shook her head and chided herself for wasting time listening to something that was nothing more than her imagination. She picked up her pen and hurried to finish her report. Deadlines are real, her boss is real, the instructions are real. The roar, the cry, Aslan and Narnia don’t exist, do they?
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