A hand on England’s shoulder. A hand that wasn’t America’s.
Shocked at the contact, England turned his head and looked up to see who it was that had crept up behind him.
And it was America, but how could it be? Because America was in England’s arms (a corpse) his beautiful child lost to the world and torn from his grip. America had been murdered, slaughtered, by one of his own men- it was a disgrace.
“Who are you?” England whispered, fingertips digging into the shoulders of his lifeless son.
Except America wasn’t in England’s arms any longer. There was no body. It couldn’t have just disappeared, it can’t have because England wanted to bury him and honour the life that had ended much too soon. Though America’s body had gone, evaporated to join the October breeze and disappear with the sombre rain. And someone with America’s face and voice and smile was standing behind England, offering him a hand and telling him to stand up.
“You’ll get muddy crouching in the dirt like that. I won’t hurt you, England; I’ll let you go for now and find your military. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take you down when you’re defenceless, would it?”
So England had been perplexed, getting to his feet without the new America’s help. “What are you talking about?”
The man that looked like America shrugged. “I’m not gonna fight you when you can’t fight back. That would be cruel. I still love you, bro.”
“Fight me?” England asked, taken aback. “Why would you fight me?”
The new America’s face had lit up. “Wait, we’re not fighting anymore? You’re giving me my Independence now?”
“No,” England said. Struggling to speak, choked. “No, you told me you were going to stop the Revolution. You told me you were going to stay with me.”
“Uh, no,” America said, tone calm and eyebrows raised. “If I have to kill you a thousand times before you let me go, I’ll do it. But I’m not gonna kill you now.”
England didn’t speak.
“Hey! Are you awake, old man? Hey, Dad?”
“You can’t be America. You said you’d never leave me.”
What is it that gentlemen wish?
“England, you’re freaking me out. I didn’t wanna fight you either but I’m not giving up without my liberty.”
What would they have?
“You don’t need your Liberty, ungrateful brat; I’ve given you everything you ever asked for and now you’ve defected to the Revolutionaries? Is this your idea of repayment, or family, or love?”
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
“I never defected. It was my choice to tell my citizens to rebel. We’re not British. We’re American, and you can’t stop that.”
Forbid it, Almighty God!
“When have I ever said I wanted to? You’re dead, this can’t be happening...”
The America that was not England’s son smirked. “I’m not dead, England. I’m winning the war and you’re just trying to play me into feeling bad about everything and surrendering. Fuck you. I’m not that gullible. I’m not stupid.”
Give me Liberty, or give me Death!There is no such thing as a feeling of one’s heart being torn out of their body, but England went through something close to it. His chest weighted and his breathing completely stopped, all mechanical human functions drawn to a halt at the sound of his son- no, the man that only looked like his son- turning his back on him.
England had many countries in his Empire, and they’re still in his Commonwealth, outwardly loathing him but inwardly unable to abandon the loutish fellow that tried to govern them. After all, England raised Australia and he civilized South Africa, and that’s just to name two. Children on every continent, some that hated him and some that loved him. But they’d all started to grow, and they’d moved on, happy to report back to England but unwilling to let him completely into their lives. Business is business and they were contented to keep theirs to themselves.
America was the one nation out of many that England never suspected would leave first.
Shocked at the contact, England turned his head and looked up to see who it was that had crept up behind him.
And it was America, but how could it be? Because America was in England’s arms (a corpse) his beautiful child lost to the world and torn from his grip. America had been murdered, slaughtered, by one of his own men- it was a disgrace.
“Who are you?” England whispered, fingertips digging into the shoulders of his lifeless son.
Except America wasn’t in England’s arms any longer. There was no body. It couldn’t have just disappeared, it can’t have because England wanted to bury him and honour the life that had ended much too soon. Though America’s body had gone, evaporated to join the October breeze and disappear with the sombre rain. And someone with America’s face and voice and smile was standing behind England, offering him a hand and telling him to stand up.
“You’ll get muddy crouching in the dirt like that. I won’t hurt you, England; I’ll let you go for now and find your military. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take you down when you’re defenceless, would it?”
So England had been perplexed, getting to his feet without the new America’s help. “What are you talking about?”
The man that looked like America shrugged. “I’m not gonna fight you when you can’t fight back. That would be cruel. I still love you, bro.”
“Fight me?” England asked, taken aback. “Why would you fight me?”
The new America’s face had lit up. “Wait, we’re not fighting anymore? You’re giving me my Independence now?”
“No,” England said. Struggling to speak, choked. “No, you told me you were going to stop the Revolution. You told me you were going to stay with me.”
“Uh, no,” America said, tone calm and eyebrows raised. “If I have to kill you a thousand times before you let me go, I’ll do it. But I’m not gonna kill you now.”
England didn’t speak.
“Hey! Are you awake, old man? Hey, Dad?”
“You can’t be America. You said you’d never leave me.”
What is it that gentlemen wish?
“England, you’re freaking me out. I didn’t wanna fight you either but I’m not giving up without my liberty.”
What would they have?
“You don’t need your Liberty, ungrateful brat; I’ve given you everything you ever asked for and now you’ve defected to the Revolutionaries? Is this your idea of repayment, or family, or love?”
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
“I never defected. It was my choice to tell my citizens to rebel. We’re not British. We’re American, and you can’t stop that.”
Forbid it, Almighty God!
“When have I ever said I wanted to? You’re dead, this can’t be happening...”
The America that was not England’s son smirked. “I’m not dead, England. I’m winning the war and you’re just trying to play me into feeling bad about everything and surrendering. Fuck you. I’m not that gullible. I’m not stupid.”
Give me Liberty, or give me Death!There is no such thing as a feeling of one’s heart being torn out of their body, but England went through something close to it. His chest weighted and his breathing completely stopped, all mechanical human functions drawn to a halt at the sound of his son- no, the man that only looked like his son- turning his back on him.
England had many countries in his Empire, and they’re still in his Commonwealth, outwardly loathing him but inwardly unable to abandon the loutish fellow that tried to govern them. After all, England raised Australia and he civilized South Africa, and that’s just to name two. Children on every continent, some that hated him and some that loved him. But they’d all started to grow, and they’d moved on, happy to report back to England but unwilling to let him completely into their lives. Business is business and they were contented to keep theirs to themselves.
America was the one nation out of many that England never suspected would leave first.
Reply
Leave a comment