The Adventures and Memories of Ireland

by Pen and Paper Alchemist

The Adventures and Memories of Ireland is somewhat of a diary by the amazing Ireland and what he remembers from any time within his life. He has many memories of Britannia, his mother and of England, his older brother. *Important message!* The first few chapters will be K and K plus , but eventually this will most likely turn to a T, so just letting you know this in advance.

2. Chapter 2

Adventures and Memories of Ireland

Ah, I'm back now. That was a good night at the pub, and a long hard sleep. Let's start today off with why England is my worst enemy now. Alright, remember last time, I had teased him about my luck? He took that to heart, a bit too much. For many years he forced me to search for the four-leaved clovers! He truly thought it would be so simple. Well he was wrong, after the years passed and everything with him had been awry for centuries, I snuck out in the night and swore my ideals to showing him who would get the last of it all! That night, the best I had since before England seemed to target me directly. It seemed dark, cold and silent. The night was young, and as usual England was too tired of making me work to stay up any longer. I had the plan mapped out all through and through. Every possible outcome had been calculated. I had slipped out of my locked room by pouring England's tea on the lock, and his cooking came in handy for the first and probably last time, it melted something in the lock and it opened with a nudge. The twit seemed to forget something that night. My childhood rugby closet was unlocked. His door opened out and his cricket bat was in there too. I put it to lock him in his bedroom. The hall was dark and hazy with dust because he hadn't made me clean yet. I made my way in the dark and down the first flight of stairs. Then, I heard a muffled voice say, "Ireland!? Ireland, where are you? My door is jammed! Get back here, stop trying to escape! Please! I just want you to be my friend!" Then I heard what sounded like weeping coming from his door. I contemplated for a moment, and answered, "Sorry, you jerk! I'm done being your slave!" "Please, I beg of you Ireland!" He cried back. "Not staying to hear his coming lecture, I started down the next flight of stairs. Seeing as I had no protection, I stopped by the mantel and picked up father's old saber and slid it into a hilt on my waist. I then used it to slice the door frame and kicked out the door. Finally, I continued out of the land of my childhood with a nothing but the sword of my father and the clothes upon my back. I went and made my own home and I live there truly alone now. I regret nothing of that night.