An Untold Story- The desperate search for America.

Chapter 9: My...mirror?

Alfred knocks on the door, he waits a few seconds before it opens. Who's at the door doesn't matter.

Their eyes lock, dull blue on gorgeous purple. Every detail of their face is like looking in a mirror, the hair would be a simular color if Alfred's wasn't a wilted wheat blonde.

They just stared at what could be their reflection, another them. Canadian and American, equally confused. Ish. Alfred feels nothing.

Purple widens a bit, Alfred feels like he should know who this is. They stare in a unspoken staring contest. Alfred breaks it by lifting his pass.

"I have a pass." He said monotonously.

"Uh yeah, um sit down eh." The Canadian said.

Alfred looked at the out of control classroom, a few on their phones. It was getting a bit loud.

"Please quiet down. Please. You're getting a bit loud.  Please everyone calm down eh!" Matthew said to no avail, his voice too soft.

"Everyone shut your pie hole before I shove something down it." Alfred said with just enough volume that everyone heard.

The effect was immediate and they all sat at once, shut their mouths, and sat straighter than they ever have in their lifes.

"Thank you um." Matthew said gently, the others looking as if they just noticed the quiet Canadian.

"Alfred." Alfred added deadly

"Alfred." Matthew said "So, as you probably forgot I'm Mr. Williams. Your English teacher."

The students looked a bit guilty since most did indeed forget. Even if Alfred could feel guilt, he wouldn't be one of them.

"I really don't see the point of an English class eh. I mean, you all speak English and I'm sure you've heard it all eh. But, enough aboot that. I want you all to write anything you are comfortable with, be it poetry or creative writing. You could even write informantive if you would prefer. Just show me your style eh." The soft spoken Canadian said

Phone's were taken out by those who prefer to type. Some took out some paper and started writing whatever. Some brainstorm before deciding.

Alfred began to type, that one part pushing to get into his head again. He refused since he knew how to write. Though, he noticed since he's started letting it in more that it was getting stronger, harder to ignore.

A simple poem it seems was the choice, it was about constant emptiness. It was actually kinda depressing, not that Alfred could tell. He felt nothing, ever. Except when that "other" appears but whatever.

Matthew surveyed Alfred, why was he so familiar? They look the same and there's this strange emptiness that washes over him sometimes. But, he feels as if he's actually know Alfred as a person.

Memories came up, memories of a time before France, England, and a small time after the Nordics. The world was made of tree's then, endless terrain where animals roamed free.

People lived there, but not the Europeans. They were the people of the land, the natives. People of life and beauty.

It was a time before the Europeans came, where disease wasn't wide spread and the people were free to be themselves.

One might notice a young native women with two small children. However, they didn't look like their native brothers. Their skin was pale, the older having skin pale as snow, the younger the soft bronze that wasn't the same as the others.

The older, had beautiful blonde hair that lay in waves a small curl in it. His eyes were purple and he was much quieter than his twin.

The younger, had sunny blonde hair that was chopped short and had a stubborn cowlick. His eyes were blue as the waters of the land, he wasn't obnoxious but he was sunny and happy. Feeling no need to be overly loud.

Their mother, Native America, treated them like any of her many children. They were her boys after all, no matter what they look like.

She began teaching them the land and it's people, the culture of the tribes of the land. Maska was a patient listener, eagerly trying each new language. The tribes of the south coming easier than the north. Kanata was also a patient listener but was shy to try the languages. He was better at the north than the south.

One day, they arrived. The people that looked like them. Maska and Kanata were playing in the clearing when they heard them and hid.

Men with skin like theirs and came and seemed in awe at the land. The two boys hid, Maska didn't trust them. But Kanata was curious so he went into the clearing.

These men spoke a strange new language, suddenly they took Kanata. He was never seen by Maska again.

Kanata was renamed Matthew or Canada by a fruity Frenchman Francis and a grumby Englishman Arthur. They called him their son, but he's not their son.

He immediately missed his family, his twin and his mother. He even snuck outside to the forest yet he never found them. Atter a while, he just gave up. Assuming they had moved for the summer.

He didn't know what happened after that, his last memory of his family was his brothers terrified blue eyes as he was taken away.
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Matthew snapped from his flashback as he looked at the clock,  time passed really quickly. The students were mostly talking or playing on their phones.

"Okay everyone, please share your stories with me or place your papers on my desk. I would love to read them eh." Matthew said as loud as he could, which wasn't loud at all. A few people noticed and started doing as told.

Alfred shared his poem using the teachers email which was conveniently wtitten on the board. More people caught on and for once people listened to Matthew.

The bell rang soon after, Alfred got up to leave. He and Matthew locked eyes for 5 seconds before he left for French. For the 15th time in the past two days, Matthew wondered just who Alfred F Jones really is.

A/N- I really did try with this one, it's not my best but...Yeah. More backstory! I want to write more backstory and have a plan for that. I just have to write French class....Yay. I know a few basic French sentences...

What is editing?

Au revoir!