the London vacationA Story by Daniel-Andre James Michael Cornish tells in First Person his story as an alcoholic until the point where he decided to restore the family name. Chapter 1: The Cornish siblings… We entered the living room and grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine cabinet: - “What do I have to say to convince you? All right, remember this is Victorian London, 1866. We are in the middle of an industrial revolution. Instead of relying on the wind to take us to places by sea, we now have machines to do the job. Instead of lighting candles to take away the darkness, we now have electrical lamps that we activate through a simple switch. Christ, the modern firearms packs bullets instead of gunpowder. Best of all, Great Britain is the flagship! This union is destined for greatness. The possibilities are endless.”
- “Not when it`s ravaged by thugs and other scum.”
- “Ah yes, Lillie, you`re correct. But that`s just what I`m aiming for, we can change that and end up on top. It`s London we`re talking about, we could run the world itself!”
- “James, I don`t think the law enforcement will take too kindly to that.” Cracking the bottle open, I replied: - “Who said the police needs to be a problem? Just look at our grandfather, he had both his countrymen and the Spaniards against him, yet he prevailed and managed to fancy himself his own fleet.” After reliving me of the wine, she poured herself a drink, saying: - “That was back in a different time. The law was out of control; everyone could carry swords in public. Even the common citizen, well not anymore. Times have changed.” I reached out my glass: - “Which precisely is why brass knuckles and smaller weapons like revolvers and knives are the popular tools right now. I mean, if others can, then so can we.” She smiled: - “All right, James Michael Cornish, I`ll give you that. But my beloved brother, tell me, how are we going to explain this to father?” Raising my glass with a smile of my own, I said: - “We simply don`t.” - “How? - “Because there`s nothing to explain.”
She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to fill in that missing piece of my sentence. So I continued: - “Yes, really. There`s nothing to explain, I mean, what`s so strange about taking a summer vacation?” - “Right. Let me guess, that vacation happens to take place here, in London?” Raising my drink once again, I swallowed the last sips until the glass dried and left it on the wine cabinet: - “Lillie Michael Cornish, you know me too well. So dear sister, shall we?” That`s how our journey started, or can I call it a journey? Back when I was a lad and my sister was a lass, we traveled with our parents to London on vacation. Now, that`s what I would call a journey. This trip in particular, was merely a revisit. I was really excited to see the capital again. Because this time would be different. Before, on the mentioned vacation, all we could afford was a two-star-hotel. This time around, we would settle as a part of the wealthy class. Don`t misunderstand me, our father wasn`t a man of wealth. Never was, no, his pride came from his work as a factory owner`s secretary. The credit for the fact that he actually afforded to have us along has to go to Robert Wilson, my father`s employer and proud owner of Wilson`s Creations. Again, I`ll make this clear, I`m not defaming my father. Not at all, in fact, I would give myself a lecture about my life before flapping my gums about his. He always made an honest day`s wage and paid his bills when due. That`s more than I can say for myself. I don`t blame him for bearing a resentment against me. He several times branded me a drunk, a troublemaker, a liar… even a cheat! I find it quite annoying when he starts talking down on me. The man makes me appear as I`m a failure, but thing is, and I don`t like making a bad account of myself, but I have to be honest. I am a failure, plain and simple. Back in Scotland, where my sister and I was born and raised by our mother, the community viewed me as a problem; I guess a petty criminal is the more accurate way of describing it.
At least I`ll give myself this, I never ran with a gang, I never robbed, killed or blackmailed anyone. Didn`t even hurt a single soul, well, not intentionally anyway. The source of my problems was a more common one. The crap that made me famous as the man who kept his worth against three brutes with a dagger driven through his arm was the demon drink. I mentioned my father often called me a drunk, that`s as close to the truth as a man can get. Unlike my sister, Lillie, who liked to drink a cup of milk for breakfast, I kick started the days with a bottle of ale. Unlike my mother who drank a mug of water for dinner, I would fancy myself a bottle of wine, unlike my father " along with my sister who preferred milk as we chewed supper, I always brought with me a case of beer. As my sister studied to become a nurse, I got off to the local taverns and got myself into a fair share of fights. Can`t tell how many heads I smashed with either the chairs or the bottles. Though, I tried to keep myself from breaking the bottles and spilling the alcohol because I considered that a waste. At first, the brawls started because of the fact that I was drunk. I`m easily angered when affected by the drink. Look at me in the wrong way and you`ll have a fist coming for you soon enough. In any case, as my drinking habits continued, the number of brawls started piling up. I angered a whole bunch of people, which resulted in them trying to gain vengeance. Even outside the pubs and taverns, Christ, they tried to teach me a lesson in the middle of the street! Father was right; maybe I was a drunkard, a liar and a cheat. Even spent some shillings on the local loose women. Despite all the bad aspects, I had a good quality, one decent quality. I could fight, oh sweet Jesus, I knew how to throw a punch. Small or big, didn`t matter, enough damage from my side of the bars and every single one of them ended up in the ground. I`ll admit, despite my skills as a fighter, there was a man who proved himself a hassle. The b*****d thought he was clever and believed he would bring me my death by pulling a dagger on me. He said fists and nothing else, that filthy trickster; he brought a dagger to a fistfight. I was on the defence, but the brute managed to stab my arm nonetheless, and whistled loudly for a pair of his friends to back him up. I attempted to remove the blade, but the problem was that it was stuck. When I tried to drag it out, it felt like the opposite: As if my arm was about to come with it. Out of respect for my limits, I stopped struggling with it and left it the way it was. My arm ached at me like it was ripped apart by a wolf`s teeth, despite that, I wasn`t one for crying. Never a crier. As it happens, it just made me even angrier. And his two friends stepping up wasn`t what I would call a “calming momentum” for me either. - “Fine, the more, the better.” " I said as I wiped away the blood emerging from the reddish wound. Their clueless minds thought I was finished, that I was powerless and simply laughed at me. Those laughs and smiles quickly turned into hanging jaws when I delivered a swing so powerful that I knocked the cheater out. Their jaws still hanging, their eyes widely open, the few steps they took backward. The shock inflicted on them was obvious. They most likely wouldn`t have continued the brawl, I can`t tell because I was the one who turned to them next and started giving them a beating. That was a strange thing about me, the more wounded people are, the less capable they are of continuing the fight. Truth be told, I was the opposite. Punch me once and you`ll get my attention, punch me twice and I`ll get annoyed; punch me a third time and the anger starts to take control of me. But walk any further down that path and those sorry folks will quickly regret their bold actions. Even if they don`t, I`ll make them. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I had just sent that dishonest scum straight to dreamland, and I was about to do the same to his mates. Still expressing faces of shock and terror, the two continued stepping away from their poor friend. I stared at them like a predator, now, I`m aware there wasn`t a mirror in the pub, but I know I must`ve looked like something similar. Even to this day, I can recall how my hands clenched, how the blood almost exploded out of my forehead, even the fast pace in which my heart pumped. Resembled the speed of a racing warhorse on the battlefield, no doubt. The pair of idiots did the exact thing every man wants to stay away from during a fight. They cowered, more precisely, they showed their fear. Whatever you do, no matter how frightening your opponent is, no matter how many they are, never show that goddamn fear! Jesus, that`s like giving up the triumph freely. Now, why am I even complaining? In the end, their cowering worked out in my favour. Their bodies literary froze to icebergs, just like the ones drifting around the North Atlantic. That`s what fear does when it manages to take control. Using that to my advantage, I hurried towards the b******s as fast as my feet would take me, and smacked the closest one I could reach in the face. Afterwards, I grabbed him by his throat and busted his nose. The man stumbled and crashed on the table. Causing it to shake, and in turn my scotch to fall over, which completely soiled the floor. Stabbing me with a dagger is one thing, but spoiling my drink? He had a heap of trouble coming his way. One can do much to an alcoholic, especially if he`s already drunk, but messing with the very thing he values more than his own life? A poor choice, indeed. I fetched the bottle that was finished way to soon, swung it, and slammed it on top of the man`s head. The shattered glass on his bold parts suited him, the shininess the glass fragments provided took away some of that boldness. With his first friend asleep and the second having just received a complete makeover, the third and last made a run for it. I decided to change the two birds with one stone proverb to three birds with one stone. In other words, I clenched my teeth and grabbed the dagger by its handle. Next was an ear-piercing scream " my scream, and the sight of me chasing the coward down. He didn`t get far, he had just shut the door behind him when I threw a chair right through the window next to it. The idea was to cut him off by catching him by surprise through the window. Luckily for me, which made the job easier was that I didn`t have to. The breaking of the window followed with a scream that was strong enough to shatter the window all by itself. And when I jumped up on the table in order to make my way out of the opening, my eyes met with the very same man. He lied on the sidewalk, blood dripped from his temple and the chair lied closer to him than man and wife. I made short work of him by dropping out from the building and stabbing the b*****d in the knee. Permanently preventing him from making a second attempt of escape. If I had you before me right now, I can imagine what you might have asked, “Why tell about this brawl, of all the ones in your backhand, you picked this one. Why?” The reason is simple; this brawl was my last brawl. At least the last one related to my addiction. You see, when I stood on that sidewalk with my defeated enemy lying before me, my eyes opened. I started to see the madness I had created. Longer up the street, something blue and dangerous headed my way. The kind of blue that`s the colour of a woman`s dress. She saw me, of course. There was no avoiding it; I had made a huge fool of myself. The girl`s name is Becky. Everybody has their own tastes, but in my opinion, she was a goddess. I recognized her because of her curly brown hair, the mole sitting right above her lips, her blue dress and the way it accentuated her butt. Clearly, as it comes to her side of the fence, she took notice of me because of very different reasons… A lifeless body, me standing with an arm covered in gore and a broken window on top of the cake. Things didn`t look good, especially from her point of view. Only thing that could`ve made the situation worse, was if she entered my personal space and smelled the stench of the alcohol coming out of my mouth. I was used to it, and even I could smell it, that speaks for itself. Back in those days, I was a wandering mess. - “James, what have you done to this poor man?” I didn`t answer, no, I finally understood the nature of my madness. The harm I had caused to those men was indefensible, same with the poor sods who ended up just like them on the other unforgettable nights I had.
Fair, they were the ones who started, but the whole crap comes down to me anyway. I was the one who had my face stuffed in between the breasts of that trickster’s wife a couple of evenings before. It`s embarrassing, I actually tried to have a wife cheat on her husband. Well, in my defence, she had a pair of gorgeous melons. Which I found surprising, considering I`m a butt-chaser. Let`s get back on track, what made me see the faults of my actions wasn`t Becky herself. It was the mournful look on her face the second she saw it was me standing outside that pub. I realized I couldn`t get myself a woman and establish a family if I continued living my life by the terms I did. That was the first time I actually saw the whole picture, I was nothing but a helpless drunk. Just like ma tried to explain to me god knows how many times before. The booze was my best friend, I pissed off my family several times because of how much I drank, and all the money I could scrounge up went to either drinking or some good old nights with the local payable women. Often a mix of both! To put it simple, I was out of control. Admitting my flaws didn`t sit well with me, but the aftermath was even worse. Becky saw the real me that day and told me not to speak to her again. Which I respected, of course, I`m not an animal. In addition, I was a man used to be drunk ten hours a day, and I sought to become a teetotaller. As if that wasn`t enough, I had a family who most likely wanted to see me dead anyway. So, at the end of the day, what did I have left? Not to brag, but I liked to think I was a decent fighter. It was a week later Mister Wilson would start his business trips, if it wasn`t for that, I guess I never would`ve managed to toss the bottle. On the very same day, I decided to have a serious discussion with my family about my addiction, to beg for a final chance. - “Mother, father, listen. I know I`ve been a huge pain in the arse. Give me a final chance, I know I can make things right.” Pa shook his head: - “Lad, we`ve given you so many chances already. I don`t see the point anymore, you`re a shame to this family. Maybe I haven`t been around as much as I should`ve. But I know your mother; she raised you better than this!” I stood up from the couch and pointed my finger at him: - “Don`t you dare speaking ill of me! Yes, I`ve caused trouble, I`ve almost killed people and I`ve had myself more drinks than an average man in a lifetime! I know, all right!? You don`t need to remind me.” Holding onto father`s hand, mother explained: - “Son, what your father is trying to say is we can`t trust you. Baby, all you`ve ever showed us is you`re a liar. How many times haven`t you told us the same nonsense? Your father is right, you`ve made our family a laughingstock, it`s your fault the community doesn`t let us celebrate St. Patrick`s day.” Closing my eyes in a lousy attempt to hold back the tears, I sat back in the couch, sobbing: - “God damn you all! I`m trying to change, yet you people are holding me down. Please, don`t turn your backs on me, not when I need you the most. This time I`m serious. I want to turn my life around. F**k, let me do this, d****t!” I stormed off the couch, grabbing the closest thing I could find and crushed it on the table. It turned out to be father`s pipe. It was a Christmas gift from Mister Wilson: instead of a whole piece, it was now just in two bits. I saw it on his face. His eyes shined like a bonfire, his whole head turned red. And before I knew it, he shouted: - “What the hell`s gotten into you!?” - “James! We understand your frustration, but with all due respect, calm down.” I looked over my shoulder; Lillie had just entered the room. She continued: - “Mommy, daddy, it`s all true. He`s actually managed to cork the bottle for a whole week now. I`m confident he`s trustworthy this time.” Something I hadn`t seen in a long while took place, a glimpse of hope showed in my father`s eyes: - “Is that the case? Son, why didn`t you tell us? Lad, I`ll tell you what, I know how I can help you.” I had myself a deep breath: - “All right father, I`m listening.” - “Yes, Mister Wilson if you can remember? He`s going to travel on business across the union soon and he wants me to go with him. Understandable as he is, he said I could bring with me my children on his expense. Now, I actually planned to take your sister only. But getting away from this place might help you stay on the right track. Besides, your mother deserves the break.” All I can remember afterwards was me saying “thank you, father”. I showing gratitude was a rarity, most of the time; it made me stand out like an ungrateful b*****d. It isn`t all bad, believe it or not. Because of the fact that I did it so rarely, it made it extra meaningful the few times I actually said it. My mom and dad was a little harsh with me. As you can tell, they had a good reason. That`s why I don`t blame them for favouring my sister above me. Actually, most lads in my position would dissociate from their parents, but in my case, I was proud of them. My mother, Allie, she studied to become a nurse back in her younger days. Then she found my father and created a family instead. That`s pretty much the reason why my sister chose to fancy herself an education as a nurse too. She received guidance from her teachers and had our mom in her backhand to help with the homework. As it comes to my father, Elliot, he started out as a miner. The few times he talked about it, he referred to it as horrible work. As a person however, he took a great interest in the art of language, mainly writing. In his spare time, before meeting my mother, he constantly practiced and honed his writing skills. That lasted to a day when Robert Wilson took notice of his talents and hired him as his secretary. I respected my father because of that; he was a hard working soul. He knew the definition of almost falling apart from exhaustion. While my mother stayed at home, taking care of her children, cooking and maintaining the house, he was out working. Bringing the wages and paying the bills. Even after he became a secretary, he continued writing in his spare time. I`m no expert, but I thought he made some great pieces of short stories. Which again, is why I looked forward to travel with my father. I wanted to use this business trip as a learning opportunity. Perhaps I could save myself from my laziness by actually seeing his dedication to his work in first-hand. I could experience my father as a worker, and try to fit some of his values and morals into my own system. I told him this just before we entered the wagon that would take us to the frigate sailing for Ireland. As a response, he spread his arms out and hugged me after we found our seats. As I can recall, happening next was the driver announcing: - “Welcome gents! Next stop, Isle of Arran!” Actually, that was a shorter version of what the driver really said. It was a long trip traveling from our hometown, Glasgow, and all the way to the Isle of Arran. As the driver summed up, we had several stops on the way to the ship where we stayed at a handful of hotels. During the business trip, we travelled by many means of transportation. Sometimes by horses dragging us around in a carriage, sometimes on board large vessels, several times by train and we even had ourselves a walk once in a while. Depended on where we were going, of course. If say, Mister Wilson had a deal to settle somewhere in the City of London, we would leg it since we stayed at a hotel there. The few times he had some business at her majesty`s very own Buckingham Palace; we sodded the walking and used the railroads instead. All the ways we could travel had pluses and minuses to them. For starters, sitting in the wagons was annoying because our fellow travellers smoked like a bunch of chimneys. A couple of times, I literally had to stick my head out the window to get some fresh air. On the other side, I liked the wagons because we got some great views of the different landscapes Great Britain had to offer. Travelling by sea had its downsides and upsides as well. The less likable part was the fact how chilly the blowing wind was. Now that it comes to mind, even the breezes gave me gooseflesh. Because of how rough the weather was, I scratched my head more than once to how my grandfather possibly could enjoy the life at sea. The likeable part you ask? That was the sight of the sun reflecting itself on the sparkling water. Would make a beautiful picture, indeed. Walking was always a welcome option too. It was good for me to be active, besides, I liked to walk and talk. By the time we were finished in Ireland and reached England, I had already managed to get on good terms with my father. Which in turn, made it easier to talk to him. The part I didn`t like with us walking, was how Mister Wilson always wanted to stop by a pub to buy a glass of wine. It made that thirst for alcohol to come back, over and over again. I resisted, and I survived. So why am I complaining? I guess that`s a bad habit of mine. I complain even when I shouldn`t, quite stupid really. When it comes down to it, walking as I said was always a welcome option. Still, I preferred to get around by horses or train. Because there was something with London I couldn`t help but notice, something that turned my stomach upside down every time it caught my eyes. Something I didn`t quite understand back when I was just a fresh-baked teetotaller.
As we left the hotel we stayed at, children across the road fled from a building that had an industrial look to it. They were pale, tears came out from their eyes like a river and all of them had damaged clothing. At first, I wondered why they ran, but I quickly understood why when I saw their pursuers. Chasing after them were buff men carrying chopping knives. - “Come back here you good-for-nothing b******s!” That`s what they shouted, and other variations of it at least. What I remember I found bizarre about them, was those chopping knives. It hinted they were butchers, or perhaps chefs. But the rest of their clothes didn`t deliver the same impression. Apart from one of them having the height of a ten-year-old and the rest actually looking like adults, the whole group seemed like a band of clones. All the five wore brown pants, topped with black vests. Lastly, the blades each of them had was the exact same knives. I said, “Maybe we should get a hold of the police”. As I was about to go and fetch them, Robert Wilson reached out his arm, preventing me from walking any further: - “There`s nothing the officers can do. If they try to make an arrest, they`re dead men. By keeping them oblivious to this incident, we`re actually doing them a favour.” Lillie asked: - “Those men with the knives, I`ve seen their kind all over London. Who are they?” After a few coughs, father replied: - I`ve heard about them, aren`t they supposed to be a liberation army of some sort?” Taking his hands behind his back, Mister Wilson said: - “They`re a thorn in London`s side, a huge thorn truth be told. They call themselves the Liberators. Nothing but a useless attempt of propaganda. Don`t let them fool you, they`re the worst kind of scum.” I pointed at the blockheads and added: - “Attacking children like that out in the open is a huge risk, don`t you think?” - “Not for them.” " Mister Wilson answered. - “Why`s that?” - “Because they`re that powerful, not even London`s law enforcement can cope with them. They`ve been established here for ages. Even back in me younger days.” I found those attackers rather intriguing, and spent the rest of the day asking Mister Wilson for as much information as I could. It turned out, what we saw that day was normal for London`s people. That gang, the Liberators, had influence spreading across the entirety of the city. They had strings to pull almost everywhere. From having stakes in the majority of London`s pubs, to owning their own transportation firm, to renting out thugs to serve as private security for nobles. According to Mister Wilson, back in the day, they even tried to have him arrested with corrupted police officers, hoping to put him out of business. Most importantly, they thrived because of the factories they ran. The factories they forced homeless children to work in, because it was cheaper to keep the money flowing that way. Robert described it as cheap labour, to me, it sounded more like enslavement. That`s when the brilliant idea struck me. And no, I`m not talking about enslaving helpless children to serve me in some factory. No, I said this before, despite all my bad qualities, I had a decent one. I knew how to throw a punch. I always knew how to throw that goddamn punch! That day, I decided to try using my abilities for the greater good. I asked for my sister`s opinion about this the next day; it was in our bedroom at the hotel. I woke up in my bed to the sound of a barking dog. I checked Lillie`s bed on the opposite side from me, just to see it empty. Then, I turned my head towards the centre of the room. Already awake, she sat in front of her desk reading a book. It was white with the title “A nurse`s path to saving lives”. I had myself a long gasp that even would make the largest workaholic sleepy as I stretched my arms: - “Aaaaaaaaah, morning, Lillie. Tell me sis, what am I good at?” She put the book on the desk and turned over to me, asking: - “Excuse me, what?” I rephrased the question: - “What can I do?” She smiled: - “What do you mean?” - “I`m just really confused, you see, I`ve managed to cork the bottle for good now. Which is a good thing, but I`m not satisfied. I want to bring some meaning to my life.” She closed the book, smiling even wider: - “You can always deliver an application for a job. If that`s what you mean, why not ask Robert, he might have something for you.” I stretched my legs and gasped once more: - “Aaaah, right, but how am I supposed to fit in? Most people back home already hates me, including Robert`s workers. All I am to them is a drunk wretch.” She got up from the chair, and to my surprise, all I could see on her body was her underwear. She sauntered over to my bed in her white bloomers and grey corset that was barley big enough to hide her private parts. Next was her laying down on my feet, stretching her arms: - “You look a little uncomfortable. Is everything all right?” I stared out the window we had between our beds: - “Yes, nothing`s wrong, Lillie. Just get yourself dressed, please?” She delivered a high-pitched laugh: - “Ha-ha, James, you can`t be serious, is that rosy cheeks? You find this embarrassing? Grow up.” I nodded: - “I will, after you`ve gotten dressed.” She pulled herself up and began removing the corset`s strings off her shoulders: - “I don`t understand the problem, remember when we were kids and mommy bathed us in that tub? You didn`t care much back then.” I continued nodding: - “True, but now you`re a grown woman, slight difference. Only person allowed seeing you like this is the man you marry. It`s an unwritten rule, and you know it.” She continued undressing herself by unzipping the corset: - “I think it`s silly. I would understand if you were a complete stranger, but the state of affairs is that you`re my brother. We`re family, I mean, I wouldn`t care if I saw you in your trousers. So why do you have to act like such a baby? Hold on a moment… is that why you`ve been sleeping with your shirt and pants on ever since this trip started?”
- “Well… I…” - “God give me strength, because you are driving me crazy!” I hopped up from the bed: - “Can we just go back to the thing we discussed, about me?” Still struggling with the corset, she explained: - “As you wish, but all I`m saying is I`m your sister. And after all, I`m not even naked. But totally, if you want to find work, it`s no fuss. Unless you want a huge wage.” I made my way to the door leading out to the living room, and fetched my boots from the shoe rack: - “Right, but you see, I had something else in mind. Because just like you, I`m ashamed.” - “Ashamed of what?” " She questioned as she covered herself in my duvet and removed the clothing on her upper body. - “You know what I`m getting at. Our family name, what it stands for.” Tucked inside the duvet, she crossed the room to reach the closet: - “James, how many times do we have to go over this? It`s not our fault grandfather was an infamous pirate, and that uncle was a serial killer.” Delivering a smirk, I added: - “And me, who`s famous across all of Glasgow now, thanks to my deeds to the public.” She didn`t answer, as I bent down to put my boots on, I continued: - “But Lillie, I`m serious. We can restore the family name. We`re sitting on a grand opportunity! With my brawn and your brain, we`ll make an excellent team.” Hiding behind the closet door, she commented: - “What do you mean by that?” - “That gang Robert told us about, we can pick up the fight and liberate London!” Next thing I heard was a thud added with an “ouch”. I presumed she banged her head against the closet and was about to ask if she was all right, but she came me in forestall: - “Have you lost your mind? Even if I wanted to, it would be impossible. The two of us can`t fight an army.” Grabbing my coat from the rack, I replied: - “That`s not what I`m saying. We`ll rally the people to fight on our side! And those scoundrels, fighting for the Liberators, they`re motivated by strength and money. Something we can provide over time as we grow. The best part, we will go down in history as heroes. Family name restored, it goes hand-in-hand. Besides, giving people a beating is the only thing I`m good at.” Decked in her green dress, Lillie shut the closet and asked: - “I`d like to turn our family`s name around, but do you honestly think we can rid London of its gang violence? It`s a big city.” Putting on my top hat, I answered: - “It`s a risk, but I know I`m a fool enough to try. Needless to say, we`ll help a lot of people. Which I consider a bonus.” As I grabbed the handle to open the door into the living room, she caught up with me and held my hand. - “Can you escort your sister out, or is that too embarrassing as well?” I loosened up my arm, allowing her to hold me: - “I think I can manage, let`s grab a drink for old time`s sake.” - “James!” She blurt out. - “What? I won`t finish the whole bottle. There`s also something else I want to do.” We entered the living room and grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine cabinet: - “What do I have to say to convince you? All right, just remember this is Victorian London, 1866. We are in the middle of an industrial revolution. Instead of relying on the wind to take us to places by sea, we now have machines to do the job. Instead of lighting candles to take away the darkness, we now have electrical lamps that we activate through a simple switch. Christ, the modern firearms packs bullets instead of gunpowder. Best of all, Great Britain is the flagship! This union is destined for greatness. The possibilities are endless.”
- “Not when it`s ravaged by thugs and other scum.”
- “Ah yes, Lillie, you`re correct. But that`s just what I`m aiming for, we can change that and end up on top. It`s London we`re talking about, we could run the world itself!”
- “James, I don`t think the law enforcement will take too kindly to that.” Cracking the bottle open, I replied: - “Who said the police needs to be a problem? Just look at our grandfather, he had both his countrymen and the Spaniards against him, yet he prevailed and managed to fancy himself his own fleet.” After reliving me of the wine, she poured herself a drink, saying: - “That was back in a different time. The law was out of control; everyone could carry swords in public. Even the common citizen, well not anymore. Times have changed.” I reached out my glass: - “Which precisely is why brass knuckles and smaller weapons like revolvers and knives are the popular tools right now. I mean, if others can, then so can we.” She smiled: - “All right, James Michael Cornish, I`ll give you that. But my beloved brother, tell me, how are we going to explain this to father?” Raising my glass with a smile of my own, I said: - “We simply don`t.” - “How? - “Because there`s nothing to explain.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to fill in that missing piece of my sentence. So I continued: - “Yes, really. There`s nothing to explain, I mean, what`s so strange about taking a summer vacation?” - “Right. Let me guess, that vacation happens to take place here, in London?” Raising my drink once again, I swallowed the last sips until the glass dried and left it on the wine cabinet. - “Lillie Michael Cornish, you know me too well. So dear sister, shall we?” That`s how my sister and I ended up in London, with the intension of removing the Liberator`s grip on it. The wine bottle I shared with Lillie that day, it was the last alcohol I ever drank. There was an ulterior motive behind me drinking it; I wanted to use its cap as a memento. To always remember my roots, where I came from, the former me. I brought it with me to the kitchen, where I grabbed a knife from a drawer and pierced a hole in it. Through the hole, I carefully passed a necklace made of black clothing. Once the first end had passed, I tied it with the other. Then, I proceeded with taking off my top hat, where I in the end placed my self-made necklace around my neck. With a bottle cap hanging right above my chest and the top hat back in place, I said with a smile gracing my face: - “London, it`s time for a rebirth.” © 2016 Daniel-AndreAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
Daniel-AndreTromsø, Troms fylke, NorwayAboutHello, everyone, my name is Daniel. An eighteen-year-old hailing from a city called Tromsø in Norway. It was back in the 10th grade I decided to pursue a career as an author. At first, I did.. more..Writing
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
