hand drying in america

November 13th, 2014 - An Unsent Letter

AUTHOR: irisoflunadreams

13th of November, 2014 - An Unsent Letter

Dear Arthur,

When I first saw You after my Rebellion, You were different. Gone was the kind man I once knew. You spoke harshly and rarely laughed. I found a man dark and brooding and cynical, like something inside was inexplicably mangled. You used to be so lively, so fun. But, Your light was dimmed.

I believed Your love for me had died, when You and Your troops departed my shores all those years ago. My love was a bayonet in your side, and I know that my betrayal of you cut you to the quick. You would not give me the love I longed for. Even before I rebelled, You didn’t give me the affection You once did. You didn’t care if all I wanted was your respect. We were barely friends, far from family, and, I no longer held Your attention. You were so cold, and I wanted only warmth. Why didn’t I just give up?

The day we met again, after all those years of separation, I was glad to see You strong as You used to be. Still strong, yet grossly overburdened. You barely noticed my nervous attempts at conversation—how hard I tried to impress you. During our informal meeting, I explained my presence in Your lands, even against the policies of my boss, but You didn’t seem phased. I fought for You, for us, just for the little time to spend together. You took me drinking. I looked up, and you smiled. You smiled at me! Oh, god, it was beautiful—like sun on dark clouds.

And so, we began our cat and mouse game. I thought at first the best way to help You was either to bed You or befriend You. Bedroom favors were what You seemed to do in other matters of foreign relations. That had never been my forte. But, You and Your boss surprised me and asked me to link with You in a Special Relationship. Of course, I said yes. You were a god to me, even after all that time apart; you survived so much and I wanted to be just like You, and to be with You in that way was more than I ever could have imagined. All I could ever want.

But, and this is not easy to say, it felt so contrived. I almost gave up. There were still days we would fight more than talk. And, You would continue to fight for Him. And, where would I be? Because of our newly established relationship, I fought for Him with You, by Your side, longing for You to notice me, yet again. There were days when You would turn Your back and ignore me. I continued to love You.

It made me so happy, when You smiled, held my hand, sat with me in front of the fire when that was all the warmth there was to be had. It made me hopeful that I had a chance. I knew every moment You looked at me with the bright fire of life in Your eyes. I never gave up. I would like to hope that, long ago during our separation, You never gave up on me, either. And now, years later, times are hard again. But, this time, your heart still flutters. It is mine that sputters. I may smile less than before, but we both still smile. Keep calm and carry on, as you like to say.

You give me hope and reason to keep moving now that darkness surrounds me. You made me promise that before I ever could hurt myself again, I would call you. Before I shut myself off from the world again, I would call upon You. That was when we were just barely friends. That unexpected kindness You gave a betrayer has never left my heart. It has touched me, shaped me, made me a better person.

Hold my hand. I trust only you. Please accept me once again.

You only do I love,

Alfred F. Jones

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England looks up from the crumpled paper in his hands, the broom drops, forgotten at his side. He calls out to Alfred, elbows deep in the kitchen sink washing their dinner dishes, “Alfred, what’s the meaning of this?”

America shrugs. “I dunno. What’s the meaning of what?”

“This letter?” He brandishes the paper at him.

“What letter?”

“Stop echoing me. It makes you sound like idiot.” England pauses, realizing now how that must sound and glances down at the letter. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Alfred. I don’t mean to say things like that.”

“I’m used to it, Art. What’re you talking about?”

“This.” He waves the paper in the air again.

America sighs, drys his hands and goes to investigate what has England so troubled.

“What is?” He takes the letter and scans it. His eyes widen and he pales. “Ehheheh. Oh, this old thing? It’s some old page from my journal or something. Where, uh. Where did you find this?”

“Don’t lie to me, Alfred.”

“Lie? Pfft. Why would I do that?”

“This letter. Journal Entry. What ever you want to call it. It has my name on it and some..some rather intense feelings about me.”

“I can explain.”

“Please do.”

“It. Really. It’s just some old thing.”

“Stop lying to me! This is dated a month ago!”

America cringed and drew away.

“The truth, please, Alfred?”

“Well, the truth. The truth is.”

“I’m listening.”

“I, uh.” He swallows hard. “I love you! And this is not how I wanted to tell you,” he mutters, angrily.

“Oh, Alfred.” England’s heart swells and he draws America close to him again, pulling him into an embrace so that he can kiss his mouth, quickly, long enough to make his meaning clear. America resists. But, England’s hug remains firm. “I love you, too. I wish you had told me sooner.”