The beginning is kind of confusing, I know. Please keep reading though. This story is inspired by a creepypasta, not a common one, it deserves way more credit. If you feel like reading it, it's called Pen-pal. There will be UsUk, but since a lot of stuff happens when they are children the first half will be rather platonic. Warning for fluff! Not yet though...

There will be a lot of hurt before comfort...

On that note, I hope you enjoy! If you think I am writing in a way that is to much, please tell me. I'm not a really experienced and I need to get better.

Finding, Saving, Holding Close

Back to were it started

?

Darkness. It is everywhere, not the slightest spark of light is to be seen. A thin blanket is my fortress, my saviour. Behind my fortress is another layer, but it remains untouched by time and by wind. It is beauty beyond sight, fascinating and cold, like that mythical queen of winter from a story I have long forgotten. As they say, there is beauty in everything, even in pain. I wonder who said that, I cant remember. Was it a song? Was it a book? Something they thought us in school?

I cant recall it. I have found out something, though. There might be beauty in pain and cold, in fear and in rage, but I have none of these behind my fortress. I have long lost it, I don't know what it is, precisely. Is it a person? A thing? I don't know... It is like a spark, like the air in a hot-air balloon. Something that keeps you of the ground, yet somehow encored to it. Yes, somewhat like an anchor.

Does that make sense? Do I ever make sense?

Maybe I should stop reasoning. I should stop asking questions, to keep myself sane. Or would that make me loose my mind?

I probably already lost the last bit of my mind, that I try so hard to keep. Maybe not thinking would spare me pain, not remembering would make me calm. I should stop tormenting hope. I should let it die in peace. I am selfish though, I have always been. As I said there is beauty in pain, in torture, even in death but there is no beauty whatsoever in numbness. For I have felt it and it is bringing me down. My fortress, spares me pain, somehow. Or maybe that is just in my head. I wouldn't be able to tell these two apart, truth and imagination. I am afraid what sort of pain is waiting beyond my safe little space on this bed, I know the numbness will kill me, though. I should move but I won't, I could but I can't. I chuckle slightly, It's all right. I'll die eventually.


Alfred F. Jones , year 2038

I am walking towards the entrance of my home. It have been 3 days of exhausting work until late in the night, at the police station. Not to say I dislike my job, but it's hard to keep going when you know that you are still miles away from promotion. I am only 21 years old, which means that I have only been working here for a year, since I started at 20. I don't expect them to make me chief of the department, of course, but I would like to have a high enough position to be able to look through the informations about missing people in New York. OK, so maybe that would require a rather high position, but still. It is the main reason I became a police officer, so no one can blame me for wanting to have a look. Most of my colleges know this, but they don't give me a hard time. I think they pity me. It's not like I am only doing it for information! Being a police officer is the nearest job to being a hero, which is totally not a ridiculous dream, thank you very much. Besides I don't want the information for some stupid reason.

I open the door to my apartment. It's nothing special but a good place still. The rent in Manhattan is ridiculously high. I can only afford this place because my mom is filthy rich, sorry for the expression mom. I must admit that I feel slightly selfish letting her pay more than half my rent but the other to options aren't possible. One option would be to live on the street and that is fairly impossible when I am working, and the other is even more frightening, both me and my mom would agree, it would be to go live in our old house in Staten Island, the forgotten borough as some like to call it. The last one of the two might not sound so bad but it is, I would rather die than go anywhere near that place, it would most likely be the same.

I sit down on the couch and look at the clock, it's late and I still haven't eaten anything. I should have some Chinese take-out left in the fridge.

While I eat I think about my life some more. Jeez, I sound like an insecure 13 year old girl. Now is not the time for self pity.

I still end up thinking anyway, I don't need sleep.

Staten Island, I will never forget, I could never forget and some things I don't want to forget. Like my friends, friend, actually the best one I ever had, the first one, the most important one. I could go on like this forever.

I smile sadly, It's all so bitter-sweet. I won't forget my favourite playground either, or school. The nostalgic feeling immediately disappears. School. The pen-pal experiment. My smile falters.

I lie down on the couch, to tired to go to my bedroom. Somehow I end up like this every night.

I would need to start from the very beginning to explain everything in a way that makes sense.

I always do this, I close my eyes and try to remember my story, every night. I am not sure why. I can't let go because I don't want to let go. Does that make sense? Do I ever make sense?


It was the year 2023. I was six years old, which meant that I would soon go to school. Soon meant the next day, so I was literally glowing with excitement, a smile plastered on my face. I was as happy as any six year old boy would be, my mom had bought me a new backpack and I loved it because it had the justice league on it. I have always loved superheroes, she knew that. All my other stuff was superhero-themed as well. I was so proud of my school stuff that I already carried it with me wherever I would go, about a week before. It was childish, but I was a child. Of course I felt a little anxious to. What if my classmates weren't nice? What if the teachers wouldn't like me? WHAT IF NOBADY THERE LIKED SUPERHEROES?!

OK, maybe those thoughts were a little stupid. I was a relatively normal boy. I wasn't bad looking, or overweight ( maybe a bit chubby ). I wasn't dumb either and my mom was well of, so I always had nice, new and clean clothes. The only thing that might have made me different were my glasses, but in 2023 glasses weren't ugly anymore. Maybe my love for superheroes was( and still is ) a bit abnormal, but I am sure nobody would have cared. Children love superheroes, after all.

On my first day of school, my mother drove me there by car. I still remember how emotional she was.

„Alfred, this is a very special day, but you don't have to worry. You're a wonderful boy, I am sure everyone will like you." She looked at me with slightly red eyes, like she was going to cry. I didn't get why she would cry on such a happy day, so I asked.

„Mom, Why are you sad?"

„Oh, honey I am not sad."

„Then why are you crying?"

She parked the car, then she looked at me once more. Her gaze was soft. „These are happy tears, Al, I am very proud of you" She murmured sweetly. Then she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

I frowned, I didn't understand how somebody could be so happy that they had to cry. Why? What did I do to make her so proud and happy?

„But I didn't do anything. How can you be proud of me?"

My mother gazed out of the window, she seemed so distant. I was afraid she wouldn't come back, so I grabbed her hand and held it. After a moment of thought her eyes were focused on me again and I noticed that tears were rolling down her face, sparkling like rare jewels, so I wiped them away with my thumb. I didn't care that they were tears caused from happiness, because they were still tears and I didn't want to see them on my mother's face.

„I could try to find a logical explanation. Like, that I am proud of what you will do in school. Or maybe it is because I am stunned how fast time goes by." She gave me a meaningful look and then said. „But, I think the real reason is much simpler. It's because I love you."

I think that was the first time I tried to comprehend love. And, oh, how much I loved my mom.

How much I still love her.

She hugged me once more and this time I hugged her back.

After that she led me to my class and we had a typical introduction lesson. After that, lunch. I was a bit nervous about it. What if nobody would sit with me? What if people would make fun of the amount of food I eat?

OK, so maybe I was very nervous. As I looked around the cafeteria, I noticed that I had made a mistake only standing there and not aproching anybody. The clicks were forming, as the tables filled and I felt hopeless. Approaching people in clicks was a lot harder than when they were alone. Maybe because they were superior in number and that made them more powerful, it was like an unspoken and yet so obvious rule. I was intimidated. I didn't know to which click I should go. I took a look at the different possibilities.

On one table sat a bunch of girls gossiping, the it-girls, a big no. On the table to their right sat a few more quiet girls and two boys that looked a bit girly, the smart ones, they were reading, I took that as a possibility, I already knew the alphabet! The table left to the it-girl table was probably the coolest one, it was the popular-guy table. It was obvious, all of the guys had Nike sneakers and jackets and I was sure they all did some sort of sport since they were talking about football. I also noticed that the girls looked at them and giggled. I could go there, but they all seemed somewhat intimidating.

Then I noticed there was one table left and to my surprise there was a guy sitting there, alone. I could only see his back, he had short blond hair and was wearing a sweater-vest. What kind of six year old wears a sweater-vest? I think at the time I was just curious about him, since he seemed weird and I was afraid of the other guys, as pathetic as it sounds. I never regretted it though.

I walked towards his table with my food tray and sat down next to him, trying desperately not to seem nervous.

He didn't look up from the book he was reading, so I couldn't see his face. Was he ignoring me? I coughed loudly trying to get his attention. No reaction. I cleared my throat. No reaction. I slammed my food-tray on the table. No reaction. I began to grow frustrated, so I decided to speak.

„Hey, dude, I know that you are very interested in reading that book...eh," I tried to read the title, which wasn't easy the way he was holding it. „ehh, Shakepear, or whatever that is. But it aint real nice to ignore somebody like that." I tried to scold him.

This time I did get a reaction. „Your grammar is atrocious." He said. But it wasn't what I had expected. I was rather pissed of, to be honest.

„Ya know, you're really ungrateful. I come here to sit with you because nobody wants to, obviously. And all you do is ignore me and criticize me!" I growled loudly and as intimidating as a six year old could. Maybe that was a bit mean.

The boy finally put down his book, then he sighed in defeat and looked up.

The first thing I noticed was his frown, it had a lot of effect due to his, well, ginourmous eyebrows. I mean, they looked so big, it was abnormal. As if his entire forehead was one big eyebrow.

He quickly noticed I was staring and murmured, „ Bloody git." or something like that, and turned his head away again, looking at nothing.

I started laughing heartedly, „Man, your eyebrows are huge! No, they're ginourmous!" I exclaimed.

He faced me again, his expression was unreadable. „Why thank you. You enlightened living being. I have truly never noticed that. Now that you have told me this incredibly amazing fact about my face, I think you might have changed my life forever!" He said, he was obviously being sarcastic. To bad I didn't know what sarcasm was.

„Uh, um, do you mean that." I asked dumbly. I was confused because his words didn't match the way he was saying them. As I thought about his voice I had to admit I really liked it, i didn't sound American and it made him seem smart somehow.

He looked at me as if I had grown a second head. „You do realise that was sarcasm."

I shook my head no, „I have no clue what that is."

„Bloody hell, you Americans are stupid. The lot of you. No, I didn't mean it. That's what sarcasm is about." Then he continued, „Now If you would excuse me, I will go back to my reading. I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it really wasn't."

„I'm sorry dude, it's just," I pointed at his eyebrows, „They are like-"

„Yes, I get it, trust me, people have told me before. My eyebrows are big, now if you're done laughing about them like the moron you are, would you care to leave me and my „ ginuormous",which isn't a word, eyebrows alone?" He looked offended and somehow sad, it reminded me of the time I called aunt Rosie fat and my mom scolded me for being mean. Damn, now I felt bad, so I decided to tell him the same thing I had told aunt Rosie to apologize.

„I think you are beautiful in a special way." I regretted these words the moment I said them, this wasn't my aunt I was talking to, but a boy my age, you didn't say that to another boy. I blushed, but felt a lot better when he was blushing to.

„Bloody idiot."

„Sorry." I didn't really know what I was apologizing for, but I felt l had to.

He just huffed. I looked at the clock, lunch break was nearly over and after that we would have one last „lesson".

„I think we started out in a way that wasn't right...So, my name is Alfred F. Jones and it's nice to meet you!" I held out my hand, so he could shake it.

„To bad I can't say the same thing about you." He said, but he continued. „My name is Arthur Kirkland." Then he took my hand and shook it firmly. I felt like a businessman making a contract.

I couldn't help but smile, I hoped he wasn't being sarcastic because his words didn't match his actions. Then he smiled back slightly. I was surprised at first because the smile made me feel weird, but then I just gave him a toothy grin. It was like a silent agreement not to talk about what had happened before.

As I went home that day, I was exited to tell my mom that I had made a friend. Arthur was my friend, right? Yes, yes he was my friend whether he wanted or not.

Walking past a brick wall, I heard a scream. It made my blood run cold. It sounded so familiar, but I wasn't going to chicken out, I thought of my self as a hero, so I had to help. Maybe it was a bit stupid.

I turned around to walk into the direction where the scream had come from. I looked around the corner silently and to my surprise there was Arthur( that explained why the scream had sounded familiar) and surrounding him were a three guys that looked at least two years older than him and where a lot taller. How unfair, I thought they were disgusting. Just then I noticed how small Arthur was, I was probably a head taller as well. I stood there and listened for a bit, I had no idea what else to do.

„Hey shrimp, give us your money or you will regret it!" Said one of them, he seemed to be the leader.

„I would rather not. Go get your own money, you utter moron." Arthur stated calmly, I found myself respecting him since then. He really had a stiff upper lip.

„Oh come on! Do you want me to beat you up or something? Dude you're British, I'm sure you are spoiled rotten. Now give my friend here the money or this will get uncomfortable."

„It is not your money. My mum worked hard to earn it and I won't let you have it." Arthur bit back.

„It seems we have no choice but to get it by force." At that, I started to panic. I knew I couldn't beat them on my own and I was fairly sure Arthur would not give them the money any time soon. I wished I had a phone, then I could have called the police.

I don't know how I had so much luck that an adult came walking my way that instant.

„What are you doing" He asked. He sounded worried. There was something about him that made me want to trust him, he just seemed like a really good guy.

I pointed to where Arthur was fighting with the guys and his eyes widened with realisation. Then he stepped in, the boys left Arthur alone and ran away immediately. Arthur and I thanked the man. I was glad Arthur had made it out mostly unharmed. Then he asked for our names, because he worked at our school and he would report the guys that had annoyed Arthur, so we told him. I have never seen him at school, though. Weird.

When we went home it turned out Arthur was my neighbour and that he had moved here all the way from England.

As we stood at his door I said.

„I was so scared when I heard you scream!" Then I chuckled, but I immediately stopped when I looked at his face. He looked confused and slightly scared.

„Alfred. I never screamed." Then he closed the door. A shiver ran down my spine.

At the time being I thought he simply wanted to sound manly, so I brushed it of easily.

Little did I know, that that was the beginning of the end. The beginning of my story, a shadow of horror to anticipate the shallow darkness that was to come.

My story. A story of bravery and of fear, of laughs and of tears. A story of gaining slowly and losing it all. A story of friendship that I will never have again. Or in a shorter and less sappy way, the story of why I need to find Arthur.


OK, this fanfic is very different from my other one, but this is actually the stile I usually write in. Like it? Hate it? Please review!

Anyway, this is loosely based on the creepypasta „Penpal" but my storyline is completely different. If you like creepypasta please read it, it is my personal favourite. I plan to make this story a bid creepy, but only Alfred's back-story. Not his new life, that part will be slice of life and maybe a bit comedy, to lighten up the mood when things get depressing. *hides in corner and cries*

Do you like the way I picture Alfred? Are there complaints? Let me know! Please!

I am rather busy so I don't know how regular the updates will be but I will finish this story. Cross my heart and hope to- OK, maybe I am not that sure, I wouldn't fancy dying. So let me just give you a virtual pinky promise~