After 40 days walking deeper into the desert Elliot was sure he had evaded criminal culpability for the revenge against James, and so it was that half a mile from the Arizona border Elliot was stopped by a cloaked figure. Suddenly Elliot was transported to the Old Rectory. Before Elliot stood Lord Voldemort, the faithful servant of Queen Elizabeth and her consort Philip who had long been charged with ridding Britain of Ingsoc.
"Elliot, you are a supreme specimen of British excellence descended from the aristocracy and whom has survived in the face of great horrors. I request you help in saving Mother Britain from the scourge of her own people."
"Are you a boy or a girl?"
Voldemort brought the wand in his hand to Elliot's forehead and after a too quick search of the thoughts in Elliot's head placed his other hand on the wand in his pants. "For you Elliot, I am a girl."
There was a great shaking tremor which struck the entirety of Britain as Voldemort died. Voldemort observed many things of Elliot before approaching him, but didn't realize Elliot only dealt in the portion of language as Nouns. All context was missing and because Voldemort was magical there was a resonance with Elliot's will.
Voldemort was dead, Harry, Hermoine, Hagrid, George Soros, and all of magical Britain was dead. Unwittingly Voldemort finally succeded in creating the necessary space for Ingsoc to die. Without elitist fucking hippies and their magical ways socialism naturally dies. Sure, Britain still had some filthy hippies, but the survivors lacked the necessary magic powers to even keep pretending Ingsoc worked. HashtagBrexitBitches!
Seeing little else to do Elliot checked his bag to make sure the money he hadn't spent was still there and resumed his walk to Arizona. Despondent that after almost reaching Arizona to buy his PowerMegaBall lottery ticket another pervert transported him to fucking England and likely wanted to sodomize him again, Elliot stopped at the corner store and bought a handle of cheap Vodka. There were a lot of corner stores between Britain and Arizona.
Twenty-Five years later Elliot happened to pass out on a Samsung container vessel headed to the port of San Diego. Elliot suffered nearly a month of continuous sobriety for Elliot had too much will to surrender. Surrounded by filthy refugees who had already been enrolled in Obamacare, no one cared to check his papers on arrival. They just handed him a voter registration card since as one Border Patrol counsellor decided, "This fellow looks Asian enough."
Finally back in California Elliot once again frequented a corner store to relieve himself of sobriety and continued walking. Being adventurous he got a handle of Thunderbird wine instead of cheap vodka. The price was right and soon he would have his PowerMegaball lottery ticket.
Being older, bloated from hobo wine, and with less sense of direction than ever Elliot's will finally delivered him to an Arizona convenience store. The wheels and transmission attached to the will were failing, but they had just enough in them.
"Hey Chief what can I do you for today."
"I am a distinguished descendant of the British Aristocracy, and I'd like a handle of Thunderbird and three hundred dollars1 on the PowerMegaBall Lotto."
"Sure thing Chief."
Elliot had arrived on the reservation. It was a happy life for Elliot. Though not being Indian himself he blended right in. Every day he'd suck just enough dicks to get his wine and his lotto, until one day the tribe made him Chief. He'd constantly reassert with his drunken slurs that he was actually British, but the tribe and the tourists frequenting the reservation's many Casinos found it endearing.
In his 17th year as Chief, Elliot's Barret's esophagus developed a bleed. Elliot died. Fin
By this time, inflation being what it is, a hundred dollars was the minimum price of a single entry. The wine was three times as much as a lotto pick as it has always been. Two decades walking through Asia on foot gave Elliot a lot of practice sucking dick to support his vice. ↩