A Shot In The Dark (A Sequel to If The World Was Us)(UsUk Fanfic)

A Shot in the Dark

Prologue: Time Goes By

(( Before you begin to read this, note that I have added ALLOT to this story, and it may seem very different from "If The World Was Us". If you want to stay with the bittersweet ending of the last book, then by all means don't read this chapter. If you liked the last ending, are ok with it, and don't want it to change, then stop there. But if your heart longs for more, and you can withstand to have more feels be attatched to this story, then continue on and read the prologue to this sequel. This will be centered mostly on romance, liked the last one, but there will be a darker element and sadness to it, as well. Just know that before you continue. I personally believe the twists and turns I have planned out for this story are going to make it a better series, though I will leave that opinion to the fans- my inspiration for continuing this story. I hope you all enjoy this prologue and thank you all for the consistent support! ))

Britain’s POV:

The echoes of time seem to be taking their toll on me. I’ve lived so many years, had so many mates, so many fears… but I was still waiting. I was getting more wrinkles, more gray hairs, and yet there was something I was losing too. I couldn’t quite explain it, for I barely understood it myself, but there is something I am forgetting. There is something so important that my brain is blocking from me. Just what can’t I remember?

I put down my pen, checking my writing. I wrote in small, beautifully cursive writing that always impressed my editors; though it was quite unnecessary. I had become an author in such a short amount of time, and I owe it all to a person I don’t even know.

At the start of my career, I had moved into a new house that was supposedly given to me by someone that had ‘passed on’. I took it without hesitation and began to look for the history behind this strange story. What I found was an old journal, but I couldn’t read the name of it. All I could read were the words: such strong and moving words. This was a person’s legacy and this legacy that was going to be carried on through my writing.

I immediately read through all of the entries, and wrote a story behind all of it: a story everyone could follow. I entitled my autobiography “If the World Was Us” after the last entry that was written in the diary. I wondered who it was this person was trying so hard to reach out to, and if the person ever knew how much love the author of this diary felt toward them. They were lucky indeed. One does not find love so easily.

I was so moved by this story that writing it was easy. Everything just flowed as if I knew the whole story from experience, even though I didn’t even know who I really was writing about. Somehow I knew, even though I really didn’t know at all.

Many people read my touching story, and took it to heart. I got popular almost overnight. At first, it was difficult to stand. Why would people follow you out on the streets and cameras following you day in and day out? Why would anyone care so much about one being who only wrote one story? Yet, I felt important. This was the kind of important that you never wanted to end. I felt alive, like I had been so long ago in that place I can’t remember.

One day, my memory will come back. When that day comes, I’ll immediately write it down.

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Alfred Kirkland’s POV:

“Daddy!” I yelled, hugging him from behind.

I heard my British father laugh as he tried to pull me into his arms. “That’s no fair, I can’t reach you…”

I chuckled, pulling away as I gave him my usual, mischievous-like, grin. “Sorry, dad, I just couldn’t resist.”

He gave me his usual smile. He was the type of person that couldn’t help but smile, even though I annoyed him to the high heavens and back. He gently pat my head and kissed my temple. “Just what am I going to do with you?”

I stuck out my tongue at him as I snuggled into his lap. Those were the kinds of questions you couldn’t answer clearly, so you just don’t answer at all.

I could tell I was getting bigger, for I could barely stay in a comfortable position in my father’s arms without at least a bone piercing my thigh or back. I was getting taller too; my head even reached over the couch! I liked being 10.

“Daddy, since it’s my birthday, can you answer a question for me?”

“Of course, anything you like.”

I looked at him curiously, slipping my hands into his. “Why did you name me Alfred?”

He smiled. “Because that’s what I called the main character in my book, and you are the main character in my life.”

His explanation sounded good. I sounded so important, but I wasn’t satisfied with that. I wanted to know more. “But why did you name him Alfred?”

He really had to think about this question. He looked up at the ceiling, seriously trying to remember. He had this problem with memory loss, and it always gave him troubles. “I really don’t recall… I suppose I just felt as if that’s what he was meant to be called.”

I was about to whine, but I knew he couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I’ll let you off easy this time, pops.” I kissed his cheek softly before I began to run down the hallway.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth before bed!” He yelled at me, just before I was out of earshot. I smiled. Oh dad, don’t you know that you’re the one who needs reminding?

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Arthur Jones’s POV:

The weirdest thing about having a job to do is that you never know what the job will be like until you do it for the first time. You learn the basics and you totally take a shot in the dark until you learn how to handle it. I don’t know if I can handle this, or if I even want to. I was caught in this predicament now, staring through a windowpane. A boy is sleeping on the other side, a boy I have never met. I don’t know if I can do this.

I slowly climbed onto the rooftops, using the tiles on the roof as my support. As soon as I got my footing, the rain poured in. Just great.

 Luckily, the window was unlocked and I slid it open easily. My feet landed on thin carpet as I overlooked the room. Your typical boy’s room: if you were a British kid. There was a tea set in the middle of the room, army men stacked on top of a Lego tower, and dinosaur plushies at the edge of his bed. Seemed normal enough to a kid like me.

Now it was time to fulfill my job. I took in a deep breath and let it out as silently as I could. Somehow, I had to fulfill this task. I peered over the boy as he rested silently in his bed. I raised one hand, reaching for the middle of his chest. I had to take it, that’s it. I just had to take it, and never look at it again. I closed my eyes, hand still reaching.

“Why are you in my room?”

I jolted back, hiding behind the bedpost. “You can see me?!”

The boy lifted an eyebrow. I guess cool British kids with accents could do that. What a showoff. “Of course I can, just like I can any other boy who sneaks into my room at midnight and disturbs my rest. And do you know what else I could do? Yell for my parents.”

I put a hand over my mouth as I came out of hiding. I motioned for him to be quiet as I talked to him in a hushed tone. “All right, all right. I’ll talk.”

The boy seemed pleased with himself, and he smiled. “Good. Now, let’s talk. Why are you here?”

My voice caught in my throat. I had to clear it before I could even try to explain this to him. “I have a job, and you’re what I’m searching for.”