World Academy: Forgotten Memory (UsUk)

Chapter 3: What's A Fairy? Is That A Food?

Chapter 3: What’s A Fairy? Is That A Food?

Arthur groaned as he woke up, a painful crick in his neck. He rubbed his neck, cracking it, and stood up. He looked at the clock. 8:00.

Arthur grumbled and grabbed his backpack, sitting on his bed and starting his homework. By the time he had finished, it was nearly ten. He stuffed his books back into his bag and walked downstairs. Everyone was already asleep.

Which made since. Ashling had college she had to pay attention to, along with a part time job and an internship. Carson also had a lot of college classes. Oliver was just finishing college, and was searching around for a good job.

Arthur sighed and set a pot of water on the stove, grabbing a tin of herbs.

He poured the hot water into a mug and let it sit. He leaned against the counter, and found himself wondering what Alfred was doing at the moment. Arthur snapped his head around, holding in a gasp from the crick in his neck, and cursed himself for thinking stupid thoughts.

Who cared what that American idiot was doing anyway? He was probably playing basketball with his dirty socks and a hamper, playing Halo on the X-box, or eating leftover McDonalds.

Wow, how racists could Arthur get?

He picked up his mug and walked back up to his room. He closed the door quietly and jumped on his bed. He turned his side lamp on and grabbed his book. When he finished it, and he actually finished the whole book, it was around 10:30. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep though. Not because he was buzzed and wide awake, but because this nervous feeling of anxiety and paranoia had swept through him.

His heart was thumping and his palms were sweaty. An old scar started to throb painfully, and his eyes widened. He leaned over and fumbled to open his side dresser, pulling out a bottle of pills. He swallowed one, and calmed down twenty minutes later. After that, he started to sob silently. He let the tears slide down his face, wetting his lips with a dainty salty flavor, his vision blurring.

Arthur wiped his eyes and stood up on shaky legs. He walked over to his TV, which was situated in front of his bed and on top of one of his dressers. He put in an old home video and turned the volume on low, then sat back in bed, turning off the lights.

He pulled his knees up to his chest as the screen flickered. It showed Alistor, cleaning the lens with a funny look on his face. He was young in the video, maybe eight. He looked up, “Awrite,” he said, his accent slurred at his young age, “Let me see it,”

He took the camera and the image shifted. Now it was facing Cameron, who was waving, and Ashling, who was holding a stuffed animal.

“Yo wan’ say somethin’?” Alistor asked.

“Dia duit!” Carson cried, “Hello!”

“Gra againn duit!” Ashling giggled, “We love you!”

Alistor laughed, “Wan’ go see mum?”

“Yes!” Ashling and Carson said, rushing towards a door, “Mum! Mum!”

Alistor followed the two through a doorway into a living room. A woman with wavy blonde hair and emerald green eyes was sitting in a rocking chair, sewing something and humming. She stopped when she saw Alistor, Carson, and Ashling run in.

“Mum! Mum! Say hi to the camera!” Ashling said, falling in front of the woman and hugging her knees.

The woman laughed and reached down, ruffling Ashling’s hair, “Say ‘ello? Well ‘ello then,” she smiled at the camera, “What’re you doin’ behind there, Ali?”