Hey Everybody, Caz here with a new piece. This is actually a request from the kink meme but I thought it would do better as a stand-alone title. Thank you for reading in advance and reviews are much appreciated.
Dear Me from the future,
If you are reading this then either you have remembered or you have found this by accident and are probably confussed confused about this.
My name is Alfred Jones, though my friends call me Alfie. I am seven years old and in a few days I will be moving away from my house in Engwand England Britain with my Papa to live with my Mama and brother in Ahmerika (did I spell that wrong?).
I'm excited about seeing my brother, who I've never met because Papa said Mama wanted to work in Ahmerika and took him there and left us here to sell the house. My Papa is a really nice Papa, he's got a beard and long yellow blond hair and speaks in a weird accent which makes me laugh when he laughs that 'honhonhon' laugh of his. I don't know much about Mama, though I've heard she is very nice too. I'm so excited I can't stop bouncing everywhere!
What was I meant to be writing again?
Oh, right!
Me from the future. I don't know how many years it has been since I've written this letter to yo- myself? You probably forgot a lot of things about our old home, like how the floor of your room creaked whenever you walked on it and how everything looked so old and weird (wired? Werid?) odd and yet you felt strange in any place that wasn't like it. You might have even forgotten the forest that is next door to our home! (It's called Flying Bunny Forest, by the way!) But, there is one thing you shouldn't forget and that person is a boy named –
"Arthur Kirkland…" Alfred mumbled as he read the name out loud to himself.
The letter he held in his hands was old, very old, in fact, it was twenty years old. The edges of the paper had yellowed slightly over the years and the writing itself was in no better condition, slightly faded and hard to read with the multiple crossings out, random notes off to the side and ink blots where he had been careless. He smiled, his eyes going slightly hazy as he remembered those times. Things had been simpler, back then. All Alfred had to worry about then was getting his homework in on time and not getting shouted at by his teachers at school and, probably most prominent of all, meeting his imaginary friend in the forest next to their home.
He remembered what the other looked like, if only vaguely. He'd been about his age, and was a boy like Alfred was. He'd had sandy blond hair which was always dirty and ruffled. He would have worn old rags as clothing, such as old t-shirts and trousers that Alfred had previously worn and took to the young boy to wear, as he had no clothing of his own. His name, he remembered, was Arthur Kirkland. Pretty normal, right? Well, it would have been if he didn't have fox ears and a tail.
His ears were placed on top of his head, among the tufts of hair and were coloured much the same, with a little white fur at their tips. His tail had been long and fluffy and Alfred could remember in the winter months he had spent with Arthur, that tail wrapping around him and the white fur on the end of it ticking his nose as he tried not to shiver.
He remembered the day they met, when his Dad had taken him out to the forest to explore when he was six and had lost him partway through, leaving Alfred alone in the dark, cold and scary forest at night. That was when he'd first met Arthur, a small fox boy who approached him as if Alfred were some threat to him. His dad, Francis, had found him sometime after, apparently laying against a tree and sleeping like a baby, alone.
"Alfred?"
Alfred could even remember his voice, how it had been so quiet and soothing and so… British.
"Alfred."
It was sad that the other had only been imaginary. Especially considering the promise he made to him the night before he moved away twenty years ago.
"Alfie! Hey, wake up you dunce!"
Alfred felt himself jerk back into reality as he was shaken rather roughly by the person sitting in the seat next to him. Alfred looked to his left to meet eyes with the brother he had been so excited to meet twenty years ago.
"I wasn't asleep Matthew."
He said as he pushed his brother off and straightened himself.
"You were pretty damn close to it, poser." The other said, slyly smirking to himself, proud at having ruffled his older brother's feathers.
This man was Alfred's younger brother, Matthew Jones, though he preferred to use their mother's maiden name, Williams. He explained that the name made him feel closer to his French heritage but Alfred wondered if his brother just wanted to disassociate himself from the family. Out of the two brothers, Matthew had undoubtedly taken a lot from Dad's genes, with his silky blond hair, cute looks and skills with other languages, namely French.
Sadly, he'd taken some of Francis' bad traits too, like his flirty disposition, dry sense of humour and-
"Were you thinking about a girl again? Seriously dude, go and get a hooker and get laid already. You're already twenty-seven!"
-innate lack of shame.
Alfred felt himself bolt up from his plane seat. He hadn't noticed his seat buckle was still on, so he was surprised when it pulled him back down, winding him for a short moment. He turned to his brother and growled slightly, clutching his abdomen as he spoke.
"Will you stop saying stuff like that in public places, you idiot!"
It had been twenty years since Alfred had moved to America and in those twenty years, many things had changed. He'd grown up, for one thing. He wasn't a cry-baby anymore who needed an imaginary friend to comfort him at night. His personality had changed as well. He'd developed into a fine, young and serious man with an acute mind and a dry wit. He'd also gotten a job, and a good one at that, as a manager for an international advertising company which dealt in everything from videogames to fashion statements.
You may be wondering why Alfred, now a highly competent business man, was on his way to England with his brother. Well, to put it simply, he was moving for his job. You see, the people that Alfred managed came from all around the world, though most of them had collected in England and since it was rather hard to manage a culturally diverse group in England from the states, Alfred had been sent over with his secretary, Matthew, to watch over them.
He'd found the old letter written by his seven year old self while he had been packing his stuff and had taken it with him on the flight, trying to hide it from his brother who, if he saw the contents, would probably die of laughter.
"Yeah, whatever, poser." Matthew continued, apparently not caring about the other passengers who glared at him from across the aisle. In fact, he loved it and so he presented another of his bad traits. Being an attention whore, in more ways than one.
Alfred face-palmed.
"Brother, would you please try and at least act professional, you're coming to England with me as my secretary."
Matthew looked back at him with a grin and before Alfred could think of moving away, Matthew kissed his brother on the cheek on both sides. A common greeting for the other, though Matthew knew that people would take it the wrong way. Matthew put on his best impression of a smooth and seductive tone.
"Oh, dear brother of mine, you must know that I always act professional. Don't worry, I won't embarrass you too much."
Alfred blushed deeply for a moment, frozen before he realized what the other had done and felt an overpowering need to sock his 'dear brother' in the jaw. The flight continued much like this, the letter and its contents forgotten as the two brothers argued for the rest of the ensuing flight until the buckle light came on and they came in for a landing at Heathrow Airport, where they would be taken to their new home to live together for god knows how long.
In the taxi, as they drove through the night, Alfred was leaning on his hand and looking out the window. His brother, affected by jet-lag, slept on his shoulder, snoring loudly and almost drooling on him.
As the night zoomed by, the moon covered by the branches of the almost interlocking trees, Alfred couldn't help but feel anxious.
I wonder how much this place has changed since I was here… I wonder how much… he's changed?
Alfred shook his head slightly, again putting the impossible though out of his mind. He sighed lightly, before he dropped off as well, his mind filled with warm images of a certain imaginary friend's smile.
Meanwhile, in the dead of night, in the deepest, darkest parts of an old and familiar forest. A man with emerald green eyes laid awake at the side of a small pool of rainwater. The man smiled.
"He's back."
