December 16, 1773
Midnight:
America places a hat made of feathers on top of his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and reaches to his face, carefully removing his glasses. He dips his fingers into a deep red mixture, and then smears it onto his face. He reaches down onto a wooden dresser, staring at the mirror, until his hands find smooth beads. He places them around his neck, just as his brother materializes behind him.
"You shouldn't do this." He says. America looks at his brother's face in the mirror.
"The god damned taxes are way too high, Canada! What do you think I should do?" America yells.
Matthew flinches at his brothers' loud voice. "I-I don't know. I'm sure England has his reasons. Please, just wait a little while."
America sighs. "I'm done waiting. My people are sick of it, and I want what they want."
"Your people will get over it. P-please, don't do through with this. It will only cause more trouble."
"These are my people. I want them to be happy and healthy, and nobody can afford anything anymore!"
"You'll start a war, Alfred!"
"Then a war there will be! And a war I will win. My people will gain their freedom!"
"England raised you! And this is how you decide to thank him?"
Alfred reaches over and grabs a lamp and a match. He slides the match over the back and lights the lamp. Canada sighs, and walks away from his brother, praying he doesn't get brought into this war. Alfred's face switches to a deremined one as he walks out the door and into the night. The cold wind rushes around him. He finds his group of followers, and marches to the boats, a few hundred people trailing behind him.
When they reach the ships, he hears excited whispers and murmurs from every direction, as people climb aboard the ships, being as silent as they can. America smiles. These people are everything he has fought to protect, what he will continue to protect, until his last breath escapes from his lips. Then, there is cheering and shouts as tea fills the Boston Harbor. He takes a box and lifts the box high above his head. He remember when England used to lift hm up on his shoulders. America shakes off the memory and throws the box into the harbor, shouting that he will gain his independence.
May 19, 1775
America stands by a small river and bends down, reaching his hands in and cupping them underneath the cold, fresh stream. He brings his shaky hands up to his lips and drinks the water hastily, afraid it will slip through his fingers. The young man sits in the grass next to the stream and stares ahead. A month ago today, a war was started. A war America nor England wanted to fight, but have started anyway. Alfred doesn't notice a dark figure standing over Alfred, gun aimed. Then, a woman shouts his name, and America is disturbed from his thoughts. Alfred looks up at the figure holding the gun. England stands over him, an almost sorrowful expression on his face, his gun trained on America's forehead.
Alfred opens his mouth to speak, when he sees a flurry of skirts running towards him.A woman is coming straight for England, her brown hair falling down her back in waves, and her hazel eyes staring at the man in the blue uniform with determination. England doesn't doesn't notice the beautiful young woman running until he hears the splashing as she runs across the river to America. She yells Alfred's name, as England aims the gun and puts his finger on the gun.
America yells for her to stay where she is, looking at her with sadness, but the woman keeps running. Alfred screams for her to stop, but still, she runs to him. And when she is close enough, she jumps in front of America, just as the gun goes off. Alfred lets out a scream of rage, and feels tears as they well up and spill out of his eyes roll over his cheeks, and drop into the small stream.
Alfred reaches out and catches her in his arms, screaming her name.
"Abigail!" He cries, pulling her closer. Blood drips from the gunshot in the side of her head, but Alfred barely notices. All he knows is that his love is gone. Dead. He drops to his knees.
"No." He says, over and over again, hoping that if he says it enough, she will wake up. He looks up. England still stands in front of him.
"You. You did this. You killed her on purpose. I will never forgive you, and I will never forget."
"I don't want you to. Remember this as your warning. You will never gain your freedom. You will always be mine, and until you accept that, the people you love will continue to get hurt."
America promises he will not love until he wins this war.
September 3, 1783
Alfred stands in front of Arthur, his gun raised, the rain pouring around them.
"Hey Britan," America yells, "All I want is my freedom! I'm no longer a child, nor your little brother. From now on, consider me independent!"
England pauses with a stunned face. America clenches his teeth. Then, England surges forward, slamming his gun into America's. The gun goes flying into the air, and drops in the mud near them. England points his gun at America's face, but Alfred doesn't even flinch.
"I won't allow it!" England yells. "You idiot! Why can't you ever follow anything through to the end!"
America's cheif steps forward. "Reday! Aim!" He yells. The blue-coated soldiers aim at England, who now stands alone.
England puts the gun down. "There's no way I can shoot you. I can't." He drops the gun on the ground and falls to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Why? Dammit why! It's not fair!"
America stares at him with sadness. "You know why."
England suddenly recalls a time, that seems far away now, when America was young, and they never fought.
Little America looks up at England. "Let's go home." Arthur says, reaching a hand out, his brown coat flapping in the wind, a smile on his face and the sun shining on his blonde hair. America laughs, taking England's hand in his, they walk back to England's home.
The memory fades away from Engalnd as America begins to speak.
"What happened? I remember when you were great." America says, looking down at England. A single tear falls from his face. England looks up and reaches a hand out, catching the tear in his hand.
"Fine. Become independent. It's obvious you don't need me, you bloody git. The little boy I once knew is gone." With that, England stands up. He can no longer stand the sight of the young man in front of him. He turns around, but before he does, he rips a necklace from around his neck. A necklace Alfred had once given to him. He throws it on the ground, sniffling. America gasps and runs forward, snatching it up. He pushes it into his pocket and walks back to his house, the burden of being bound to England is gone, and he is free.
