Chapter 3

He studied the moulded carpet under a pile of toppled records. A carpet worn and dirty, faded and frayed, haggard, dreary, unknown to the world.

Old.

The cup in his hands was sliding slowly, until it eventually slipped and fell. It's contents poured out onto that carpet, sullying it further. The carpet's near useless, it might as well be thrown away, really. But Arthur couldn't do it. He didn't want to throw it away, and he knew he never would.

He wouldn't throw anything away. He never had.

Piles of objects surrounded him each and everyday. His life, his routine, never changed, neither did his possessions- not counting the delivery of items sent to him from deceased family members. And they had stopped…some time ago. Nothing changes, and nothing changes him.

Except that American. And now he was gone.

Arthur bowed his head slightly, staring more deeply at that abhorrent carpet. His small frame sank wearily under a pressure he couldn't name and his hands hung limp between his knees, a perpetual feeling of despair gripped him and a weary sigh escaped his aching body.

What had Alfred done to him? He was never depressed before, he hadn't even questioned this life. But what now? A few visits and he flips everything upside down. It's not just his personality either, it's the new perspective he's give him. Something is seriously wrong.

Before he knew it, it was pitch black, and as he sat there not moving unless he had to, it was suddenly light again. The glare filtered through his faded curtains, filling the room with a washed out colour and falling upon his ragged hair.

The door creaked in protest at being flung so violently open, and in a flash Arthur had stomped over the threshold and was making his way down the street, obnoxious poster in hand. He would go to that damn cafe, and he would ask for that damn boy, and he would give him what for! He ignored the surprised stares he received from his neighbours that he'd never met, from pedestrians that weren't even local, hell even the pets and animals seemed to stare as if his entire being didn't belong.

He didn't notice the freakish clothes they seemed to wear and barely acknowledged the alien vehicles flying down the road beside him. The world barely reached him until he came to a stop outside a building, the address exactly what was printed on the paper before him. He read the gaudy sign in doubt: McDonalds. It didn't look much like a café, he had read about them, and they didn't sound anything like this. Regardless he slowly made his way to the- glass door? He didn't know they existed. Everything seemed so odd. He only then realised where he was.

And he had no idea where that was any more.

He was trembling now, his body trying not to go into shock. His legs shook, and he was sweating profusely. One glance into the mirror wall (a mirror wall?) inside the restaurant reflected his pasty white face. The customers openly watched him, and with a fleeting look at the bright décor and the colourfully dressed humans placed around him, he backed into a partition (which was seemingly there for no explicable reason) and slid down it, legs finally failing him. He sat there staring at his knees, at his worn trousers that he had taken from a bag sent to him by a deceased- …great grandfather, he didn't know.

Eventually someone came over to him cautiously, with a shiny badge attached to their front. Arthur fixed his eyes on it to drown out all thought and sound. It read 'Matthew'.

"…ear here, sir? Um, sir?" His whispery voice caught his attention finally, and Arthur raised doe eyes but avoided Matthew's violet ones, and asked "Does Alfred work here?"

The boy blinked, and said "Yeah, are you a friend? I'll get him for you, why don't you sit down?" He carefully helped him from the floor, and deposited Arthur to the side in one of the open booths. He wrung his hands once, then quickly walked away. Arthur nervously clutched the strange smooth seat beneath him, baffled as to why such an uncomfortable material was used for a restaurant seat. That was one of the many things plaguing his mind, but he wouldn't focus on anything important yet. His mind would probably break.

Soon, someone came into his vision from the right, and sat down warily opposite Arthur.

Alfred.

"Hey! Erm, you needed me?" The young man wasn't nervous, he was just as boisterous as always, but something was bothering Arthur.

"What is going on Alfred?" He whispered breathily, wide eyes still dragging themselves painfully slowly across everything around him.

"I don't know what you mean. Listen do I, er, know you from somewhere?" He was watching Arthur carefully, as if he thought he would shatter at any moment. Their eyes met solidly, and both of them gaped ever so slightly. They both saw something they knew all too well. Age.

"I don't know you at all." Arthur said. And it was true, at least partially. He knew that boy that had been hounding him for these past few weeks, and he knew his mannerisms, but this boy, this man-

Alfred stayed silent, what was he supposed to say after all? He was a bit unnerved to say the least. Some guy looking like he'd sprung straight from the 50's, or 20's, or hell, eighteenth century, (he couldn't tell with his mismatched clothes), stumbling in and requesting to see him- what was he meant to do?

"Where do you live, should I call your family?" Alfred tilted his head slightly, concern radiating from blue eyes.

Arthur shook his head, "I don't have any family, they died…a long time ago." He let his gaze wander, but didn't want to see anything, especially not those eyes.

But he saw another, a pair of vaguely familiar violet ones, the face they belonged to smiling serenely at another boy beside him just outside the restaurant. That boy, Arthur noticed with a crushing feeling of madness, was Alfred.

He looked back at the other one if front of him.

Alfred said nothing for a while, staring into Arthur's green eyes until the latter flinched and looked down. Alfred spoke, "You must be…Arthur." Arthur raised his head questioningly, and saw pity reflected back at him. "Francis will be happy", he chuckled.

He wanted to ask Alfred what he was talking about, but his energy seemed to dissipate. The boys outside watched him, smiling almost reassuringly, touched with a hint of sadness much like Alfred's.

"I need to talk to you about something, Arthur" Alfred said quietly, "You might be a bit shocked, I…Well, there's a lot to say."

And that was the day Arthur learned the truth. In someone's apartment, on someone's sofa, everything was explained by the blue-eyed stranger Alfred. Some was told by Matthew, his brother, and at one point a French man explained some, calmly taking his hand in his own until Arthur pulled it away in silence.

Arthur could said nothing, he was shocked and he certainly didn't understand how this could possibly be real.

He didn't speak at all, and one night someone came to him, dressed in nothing but rags and patches. It was then, after staring mutely at his own self, at his own sad eyes, that he fainted. And when he woke his mind was clear.

He wasn't Arthur Kirkland, not anymore. The real Arthur was dead and gone, his remains lying in a heap in a box in Arthur's loft, his ghost finally visiting him in this apartment. And Alfred wasn't real, and hadn't been for years. He was dead, and his ghost was what he had been talking to all that time.

He wasn't even human. He was a nation, these people were all nations, and they had been in existence for hundreds of years- in his case, thousands. They came into existence once their human hosts were killed by the beings inside them.

No, he wasn't Arthur Kirkland anymore. He was a personified nation that has finally been discovered by America. He was England.

Been quite a while. It's finished now though, sorry I haven't updated, I've been busy and blah blah depressed and such. I wont elaborate and stuff because it seems everyone here does that a little too much perhaps, but hey there is your excuse.

Please review, I'd like to know how much I'd bollocksed the ending up so I can eventually fix it.