The Nation without a Name
1/14/2015
10:49 PM
Chapter One
It was just after six in the morning and England was making his famous scones, make that infamous he pouted. He was upset that no one else liked his scones. At least he could take comfort in the fact that one off his older brothers, Scotland, had worse food than him. Speaking of Scotland, England was still upset with him. Oh well if he wanted to hang out with that damn frog instead of him, that was his business. But seriously none of his brothers wanted him around. Wales never said so but England got the feeling that England hated him, and Southern Ireland was still mad at him for his occupation of him and his twin Northern Ireland. North never disagreed with his more volatile brother except in the execution of the plans, and usually he was right. God help them if he ever decided to take over the world. All this however was old news, no something much more serious was happening. He couldn't find a nightly cuddle buddy. Ever since he could remember, he had to have someone to sleep with, at first it was big brother North but that ended about the time he got his first whiskers. That next birthday big brother Scotland took him to his first brothel, and introduced him to the wonders of a woman's touch, and England was hooked. From there the young country was set down a dark path of temptation and debauchery until he set sail under the jolly Roger as Arthur Kirkland. His brother Wales was the one to put a stop to it. That one act of brotherly love is why England had a hard time believing that Wales hated him completely.
A knock at the door brought him from his somewhat dark thoughts. Wondering who on earth could be calling at this hour he opened the door. A man stood on the doorstep. The stranger handed him a letter and promptly turned back, hopped onto his horse and rode off. Turning back as he shut the door to his two story Victorian town house, England walked to his writing desk. He broke the seal and seeing the queen's handwriting, sighed and girded his loins for whatever his queen had in mind for him, he just knew that he wouldn't like it in the least.
Dear Arthur Kirkland,
I pray that this letter finds you alive and well, and if it doesn't, oh well, it is time for you to get up out of the grave anyways you'll never guess what the Spanish bitch, um, I mean Queen Isabella, sent me. A letter stating, and I quote. 'Don't worry that you are Queen of the smallest nation in the world, however you are about to become a whole lot smaller, for I have a citizen who sailed for me and claimed the new land for me. He said that he used to be an Englishman, but wished to be Spanish instead.' Ooh she is the biggest bitch I have ever been unfortunate enough to meet. Oh well, your mission is to go and fight the damn Spanish for this new commonwealth of Britain.
sincerely your queen,
Elizabeth Tudor
P.S.
In case you were unaware, this is an order, and ignored at your own peril.
England sighed once more as he finished reading the missive, and set it down. Well that's that then, the Queens had been at war mentally if not physically since that nasty business with pirates. If his Queen wished him to go up against the little tomato, well he had no choice. Personally he was feeling a little tired of bickering with the others and thinking of going into isolation. It didn't matter now. He quickly penned off a letter and before he folded and sealed it, he proofread the letter, liking what he read he sealed it and rushed off to pack for what would likely be a terribly long war.