Arthur studied the pristine-blue sky of the beautifully aged city of Paris. He sat in his hotel room glaring out the window. The picturesque view tempted Arthur to drift off into almost a trancelike state. A daydream began to develop as Arthur stared into the depths of the elderly city. His peaceful silence was ended quite abruptly with the sound of Mrs. Fowler’s voice.

“Arthur, I know you are quite forgetful so I am going to give you the schedule for our visit of Paris.”

“Okay,” replied Arthur flatly, annoyed with his wife’s interruption of his short-lived meditation.

“First,” Mrs. Fowler replied, ignoring Arthur’s tone, “we will take a visit of the tomb of Napoleon. I heard it’s very exciting.”

Arthur’s mood immediately shifted from annoyed to disappointed. Out of all of the activities to do in the city, his wife chose to visit Napoleon’s tomb. This was truly going to be a bore.

“But honey…” Arthur began, but was stopped by his wife.

“No arguing Arthur. That’s what we’re doing and it’s final.”

Arthur found no use in attempting to persuade his demanding wife into doing something else, so he agreed without argument. It seemed to Arthur that all he did in his marriage was follow his wife’s monarchal guidelines. Nevertheless, they set out for the Tomb of Napoleon via taxi-cab.

When the lovely couple arrived at the Tomb of Napoleon, they were immediately assigned to a tour guide. Unfortunately, the tour guide’s English was heavily French-accented. This just added to Arthur’s list of disappointments for the day. The tour guide introduced herself as Marie-Louise, and began speaking.

“Napoleon was not actually buried here in his tomb immediately after death. His death occurred on the island of his exile—St Helena. He was exiled there after being defeated at Waterloo by a coalition headed by the British General Arthur Wellesley, also known as the First Duke of Wellington. It was there where he was actually buried. However, roughly twenty years after his death in 1840, Napoleon’s remains were transported from St. Helena to his bodiless tomb here in Paris. The tomb was designed in an extraordinarily royal fashion.”

Boredom overcame Arthur. It was almost as if he couldn’t take this unconcern any longer. He began to drift off into that same trancelike state that he felt before. With his eyes shut, he embarked on a journey outside of reality…

“General Fowler,” frantically demanded the British commander, “we can’t take the French on by land. Its suicide. Everyone in Europe knows that Napoleon Bonaparte has the best army in the continent. Bonaparte’s navy is nothing but a speck to our Royal Navy. Ours is the greatest in the world. There’s no way the French could defeat our fleet.”

“They are my orders…” replied British General Arthur Fowler with authority, “get our cannons ready. We’re taking on Mr. Artillery himself.”

The commander sighed, but followed the orders given.

Arguably the greatest army in history, a coalition with Great Britain, the Netherlands, Hanover, Nassau, Brunswick, and Prussia gathered together under General Arthur Fowler’s control. The intent was to annihilate the confident French army at Waterloo, a city that is now controlled by the United Netherlands.

The first shot on the battlefield was ordered by the well-respected Arthur Fowler on June 18, 1815. Fowler’s forces were successfully outfighting the French. Fowler’s strategy was flawless. Nobly, powerfully, and dominantly, Arthur forced the arrogant Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte to retreat. The 7th Coalition reigned victorious. It was all due to Arthur Fowler’s brains, and battle tactics.

Nothing could phase Fowler. He defied all odds battling the French by land, and he defeated the undefeated. Walter stood proud of his glorious achievement and…

“Arthur!” the glory was ended rather abruptly with the sound, once again, of Mrs. Fowler, “I swear Arthur… you need to wake up. All I asked was for you was to make it through this tour for an hour. An Hour! I don’t believe that I was asking much. You couldn’t do it. I’m sick of it Arthur, absolutely sick of it!”

Arthur inattentively listened as his wife chirped his ear off. He truly didn’t care anymore. If only his fantasies could become a reality, Arthur’s life would be complete. His entire life had spiraled into a vast desert of nothingness. Like a lethargic schoolboy listening to a teacher give a lecture, Arthur allowed his wife to continue just a bit longer. Finally, he summed up enough energy to respond.
“Sorry,” Arthur flatly replied to his nagging wife.