Title: The Story of You
Summary: While searching through the attic, I found a book about me, describing my life in perfect detail. Though, now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't have read it.
Warning: Doesn't contain a happy ending, that's all I'm saying.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia .
We stood frozen in the doorway of the attic as our widened eyes stared at the mounds of junk and clutter littering the dusty room. Apparently, there was supposed to be a book we needed for a school assignment hidden in this maze of boxes and bookshelves, but somehow I doubted we would be able to find it.
"Wow, it's a good thing I came up here with you, Arthur." Alfred remarked as we slowly entered the rarely used room. "It would probably take you days to find it in this mess."
"Yeah, thanks." I muttered as I began sifting through some boxes. "Let's just start."
It only took a good twenty minutes until Alfred was ready to quit. I had already assumed that that would be the case, so I wasn't at all surprised when he gave me his well thought out excuse as to why he needed a break.
"Hey, Arthur, I know you really need my help finding this book and all, but I kind of forgot about this errand I have to run for my mom. I'll be back as soon as I'm done though."
I didn't even bother looking up from the box of books I was searching through. "Go ahead."
"Really? Thanks, Artie! You're the best!"
I sighed as he ran out the door, leaving me with the rest of the clutter to look through. He never was a good partner to work with, which left me wondering why I kept choosing him every time. I guess I never learnt from my mistakes.
Reluctantly, I picked up another box and once again began to sort through its old, dusty contents, keeping my eyes open for the book I was looking for. One by one, I passed by each book, none of them donning the title of which I was searching.
As I began to reach the end of the books that were kept in that box, I silently prayed that one of them would be the one I was looking for so desperately. My hope though began to whither as I muttered the names of the titles I was seeing, the end of the pile getting closer and closer, yet none of them were the one I had in mind.
"Moby Dick, The Woman in White, Gulliver's Travels, The Story of You-"
My hands stopped as I read aloud that title. The name of the book caught me off guard, while the other ones seemed vaguely familiar, this one didn't ring a bell at all.
Temporarily forgetting my original mission, I slowly picked up the book and observed its cover. It was nothing spectacular, just a plain, white font written on a plain, black backdrop. Turning the book over, there seemed to be no indication of who the author was. Curiously, I opened the book and found a publishing date on the back of the cover; March 22, 2017.
But that was today's date.
I quickly opened to the first page, and my heart almost stopped as I read the first chapter's title; The Birth of Arthur Kirkland.
This was impossible. There was no way that this book was my biography! As much as I couldn't believe it, I couldn't help myself from continuing to read.
"Arthur Kirkland was born on Thursday, the fourteenth of April in the year two thousand. At eight thirty-three in the morning, he was delivered at the Cambridge University Hospital in Cambridge, England, United Kingdom. He was born to..."
I tore my eyes from the page just after reading the first two sentences. It was completely accurate, it had my birthdate, time, and location. As I skimmed through the next few paragraphs, it told me who my parents were, exactly what happened at the hospital, and described my parents bringing me home to the exact house I had grown up in back in England. It was disturbingly accurate.
As much as I wanted to take the book downstairs and ask my parents if this was their doing, my curiosity got the better of me and urged me to continue reading. Hesitantly, I scanned through the next pages. I read about my first birthday party, and though I had no memory of it, the book's description fit perfectly with the story my parents had told me of it.
The book contained the details of the imaginary friend I had created as a child, Flying Mint Bunny. I compared the book's description of her with the memory that I had of her, and it was dead on accurate. This could in no way be the work of my parents, for I had never described to them what Flying Mint Bunny had looked like.
Suddenly, I didn't want to bring this downstairs. I didn't think I wanted to show anybody, for it had some pretty big secrets of mine that I didn't want anyone to see. My perspective on our move to America was written in great detail, almost taking up a whole chapter of the strangely long book. The negative thoughts I had had back then on the situation were all documented, though I never remembered speaking them aloud, lest writing them. But who else could have known my thoughts?
The next chapter contained the story of the first time I had met Alfred, all those years ago when we were just eight. Once again, my thoughts were all documented, from the ones where I had thought of Alfred as an idiot, to the ones where I had thought of him as probably the best friend I could have ever had. And then there were the thoughts that made me blush in embarrassment, like the time I thought that I was in love with him. Cringing, I turned through those pages quickly, not wanting to reread the humiliating memory of my childish antics.
The book went on to describe every detail of my life. The time I had broken my arm while trying to climb a tree in order to retrieve a ball Alfred had thrown too high. The time I thought that my friends had forgotten about my birthday when really they were throwing me a surprise party. The time Francis dared me to bake cookies without burning them, and surprisingly I did, but not without burning the cookie cutters instead. I laughed at that almost forgotten memory, as I still couldn't figure out how I had done it.
Before I knew it, hours had flown by while I busied myself with turning the pages of my life, immersing myself with the memories of my past, the good and the bad. I had finally reached the current time in the book, the part which told of Alfred and I entering the attic all those hours ago. Strangely, the amount of pages between now and the end of the book appeared to be quite small in number. Perhaps there was a part two.
While skimming through the paragraphs which described me reading the beginnings of the book, I stood up and stretched my aching limbs which had become stiff after sitting there on the floor for so long. As I read about my recent actions, I could hear someone coming up the attic stairs.
"Hey, Arthur, I'm back!"
Alfred shouted those words just as I was reading them in the book. There was only one more paragraph left, and I wanted to finish before Alfred came up, so that I could hide it from him, as I didn't want him to see it. Quickly, I skimmed through the next few lines, subconsciously stepping backwards as I did. The book described me bumping into a bookshelf, and before I could think about what that meant, my hand rushed to my head as I banged it on the side of a bookshelf. I stopped reading for a second as I rubbed the back of my head, but suddenly stopped as a low rumbling noise sounded from above. I grabbed the book and picked up reading again.
"He stopped reading as his hand rushed to his head which had banged into the bookshelf. He then heard a low rumbling sound, and quickly picked up the book and continued reading. As he read, a twelve pound bowling ball which had been moved from his banging into the bookshelf, began to roll down the top of the shelf."
I froze and then looked up to see the ball slowly rolling off the edge, but there was still one line left in the book.
"The ball rolled off the edge of the shelf, and fell onto his head, which resulted in instant death."
It then hit me why the book ended here, and why the publication date was today.
BANG!
I hope the ending was pretty obvious, if not, then oh well. I'll leave you to wonder.
This was just an idea I got from reading something, and sorry if it was tragic, but I like the ending better this way :D
Review and let me know if this was any good or not. Thanks for reading!
-britishsconesahoy