Pleasant Thoughts
Every day he helped, carting wood and bricks and supplies, and every night he huddled with his people as the Luftwaffe pelted their beautiful city from above. Shell after shell crashed into buildings. Homes were shattered, lives were shattered, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Arthur stood alone against Ludwig and his superior, the insane Adolf Hitler; the island nation was barely hanging on, and a successful counter attack seemed out of their reach. So many of his men had laid down their lives for this cause, whatever it was. Times were that Arthur couldn't even remember. His life revolved around making what repairs he could in the daylight, and listening to it all being undone at night.
But on the upside, he had never felt closer to his people. To the older men and women of the city, he was simply Arthur, the nice lad who trundled to them every day to help. He was the polite young man who seemed to know so much about British history. He felt truly alive when he was with them, helping his people. His boss could go through all the paperwork he wanted to; no one saw Winston Churchill out here doing the work that desperately needed doing. It made him proud to be British.
But it was times like this, as he huddled in his basement, that he wondered what Alfred was doing. What it would be like to leave England and her troubles, just for the day, and flounder in the warm beaches of Florida. Or walk through the shady calmness of Pennsylvania, named for it's woods. What it would be like to stretch out in endless fields of wheat, and not see anything for miles and miles. It sounded so peaceful.
And, when he was very much alone, he thought of being with Arthur. Of stretching out on silver-sanded beaches wrapped in his lover's arms, of balmy nights on dunes, or crisp nights in a tent listening to the murmer of forest chatter. Of just being with the younger nation, reveling ineach other's company. Yes, Arthur thought of that very often.
And then the sirens would cry out the warning that the enemy was coming, and the thoughts would banish into action. His lean form-made more slender by ration shortages- would huddle into the basement of a shop, or if it washis night to watch, lever himself into an anti-aircraft gun and get to work. There was no rest for him, though every inch of him ached from long nights of struggling through a bare hour of sleep.
Yes, he should have kept his mind on the task of keeping his country whole at all times. But every now and then, it was nice to lose himself in pleasant thoughts.