"Welcome everyone, to the first World Conference in 15 years." Germany stood at the head of the long wooden table, taking in the expressions of the rest of the people gathered around it. The rest of the Countries, he corrected himself.
He sat and England, that's who he was, stood.
"We've called this meeting to discuss the rebuilding of some of the agreements we had before the Depression." The British man tugged on his ear when he was thinking, something he hadn't done before. They all seemed to have new quirks, though they pointedly stayed away from their old haunts, to make it easier on those they'd had to leave behind when they reassumed their rolls as countries. Some of them had readjusted easily enough, but for some it'd be a lot harder. In the back of their minds they still held some doubt. That would take a long time to dissipate.
15 years was a long time to forget, to build up a life and then have to get up one day and leave it behind for something that would put you in an insane asylum.
But they had all remembered, some more grudgingly then others.
But the one word that had started to ring in all their heads.
Remember.
The scent of gunpowder, the flash of steel, and rain… So much rain… "You were so great..."
Arthur Kirkland jumped awake; nearly falling out of his bed. He groaned, stretching and feeling his muscles protest.
Another one of those weirdly vivid dreams… They'd been coming more frequently. But shouldn't dreams have people you know in them?
His therapist had told him that wasn't all that strange. But he hadn't been to see her in a while, hoping that focusing more on his job would help.
It hadn't.
His wife was worried about him, though she didn't bring it up anymore. He tried not to tell her about the dreams, didn't want to make her worry any more. She was driven and intelligent, an English History professor. He still didn't understand why she thought he was worth her time, but didn't complain.
Arthur sighed and curled up into a ball, the frayed pattern of the blanket around his shoulders making his eyes hurt a little. The feeling from the dream still haunted him, he could almost feel the rain on his shoulders, as hard as he tried he couldn't see the face of the person he'd been talking to. But he could remember one word; it rang mockingly in his mind.
"England." His mouth formed the word like it was alien, though it definitely wasn't.
A half-manic laugh worked its way up his throat.
"I should be committed..."
Arthur pushed himself up off the bed, going to find his teapot. He'd need extra strong stuff today; he could already feel a headache coming on. He sat at the little table in his flat, staring into his cup of tea, the steam wreathing patterns into the cool morning air. He saw his mobile, half-buried among a mountain of papers. He reached for it, flicking it open, not surprised when there were no messages on it. He had no one to talk to, his wife had told him yesterday that she had to work late on a thesis paper this weekend to try to finish off her degree.
The tea was pleasantly hot as he swallowed it down, clearing the dream from his head. He finished it and took a blistering hot shower before dressing in his typical work clothes, slacks, a button-down shirt, and a sweater vest. Arthur's wife made fun of him for dressing like an "old man", but he knew she liked it. He continued his futile struggle with his hair, trying to get his bangs to lay down enough to hide his bushy eyebrows. He gave up, as he always did, and went to find his coat.
He stepped out into the cool London morning; for once it wasn't raining yet. He slipped into the quick-mart below his flat to get something for breakfast before he made his way down the still-quiet street to the little bookshop he worked in, waving to the young lady that ran the attached tea shop.
"Good morning Arthur!" She waved, offering him a cup of her newest tea blend. She loved to use him as a guinea pig.
He took the cup gratefully, promising to bring her his thoughts on it later in the day. Then he flipped the sign to OPEN, and unlocked the main door, quickly situating himself behind the main desk, the vanilla smell of old books wreathing around him. He smiled fondly at the cup in his hands. This is what had become of his life, after he'd woken up in Oxford library with no memory of how he got there. Or anything for that matter, except his name.
"Mister Kirkland?" Arthur jumped, not noticing the boy who had walked up to the counter.
"Oh, good morning lad."
The Asian boy smiled at him, as he always did. He'd been in the teashop every day for the last few months. His adopted family had sent him over to study English for a while. So he'd been spending his time running between the shop next door and this one, fetching books on all subjects and devouring them all. He was a very polite customer, so Arthur didn't mind him. The only strange thing he'd noticed so far were his eyebrows, disproportionately bushy, somewhat like his own.
The boy smiled kindly at him. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going back home today."
Arthur felt a pang of sadness. It had been nice to have a regular; he'd never even learned the boy's name. "Well I'm glad that you enjoyed your time here."
The boy bows his head. "Yes, thank you very much for allowing me to use your wonderful shop.
Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "Well thank you, but it's not my shop, the owner is just very absent."
The boy laughs. "Well you take good care of it, I wish you well Mr. Kirkland." The boy shakes his hand and walks out into the dreary morning.
Arthur sits behind the desk, watching sparkles of dust dance in the weak morning sunlight through the window. Then, with no warning, the sky opens up and douses the world with more rain, the few people in the streets running for cover.
It's an agonizingly slow day. No one has come into the shop since the boy, the rain forcing everyone in their right mind inside.
Arthur soon finds his eyes getting heavy, and rests his head on his arms, content with the notion that the bell on the door would wake him if anyone came in.
The sound of an air-raid siren, and ground quaking… People screaming, buildings falling to bombs… The reek of death and destruction..." England. England. England.