"My Father"
By,
Raingirl777
xXx
A heaping plate of food was placed in front of me. Arthur always knew how to cheer me up, cooking a delicious breakfast and allowing me to run out in the fields that made up our back yard. I was a child then, who knew not the ways of the world. I was a child that lived with Arthur Kirkland, the man I once saw as my father. He was a kind yet strict individual that treated me fair and supplied me with an excellent education. For the time, I believed our happiness would last forever, but I was foolish to think such things…
Over the years, my tiny body grew into a young man, a man that would learn to take responsibility and respect others. I stood before a mirror, flattening the wrinkles in my suit and combing my hair. A slight frown graced my lips.
"Arthur, are you certain I should wear this…?" I turned to face him as he stood behind me.
"Why not? It's about time you start dressing like a gentleman. No one would even care to speak to you looking the way you do now." I looked down at the pile of clothes I usually wore from day to day. It was true that they were slightly worn from age, but they worked well for me. My eyes then returned to the clothing Arthur gave me.
"No thank you. I'm fine with what I already have. Perhaps I'll wear this on special occasions." Arthur shook his head at my statement.
"Alfred, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met…" His British accent almost grew thicker than his eyebrows, if that was possible.
"Surely not as stubborn as you!" We both laughed at our slightly childish antics. This was the first among many disagreements yet to come.
It was a fateful morning as we sat in the dining area of our town house, a nice place that both Arthur and I purchased one year prior. I had yet still to become accustomed to the hustle and bustle of everyday city life. For the past month we had been surrounded by business and politics, talk of the British wishing to keep the American citizens underway.
"Can you believe all of this fuss?" Arthur had broken the silence as he reached for his cup of tea. "I don't see what is so wrong about the British wanting to stay with Americans." With him saying that, I slammed both of my hands on the wooden table.
"What are you saying; have you seen the way they have treated us!? My ancestors came to this country for freedom, not to be under someone else's rule!" Anger flared throughout my entire being. For years, Americans had been joined with Britain and their ways. It was just recently that people began thinking of another life, one in which we stood on our own and fought in what we truly believed in. I had agreed with them and without Arthur's knowledge began to meet up with fellow dreamers. It was now that I chose to share my thoughts with Arthur. What a most opportune moment for him to bring up the subject, like a fresh apple ripe for the plucking!
"Foolish boy, when will you ever learn that it is best to be safe than sorry!?" His voice became higher as rage overwhelmed him.
"You, sir, are biased. Any British man would say that!" SLAP! A searing pain flooded my cheek as the palm of his hand made contact. He stood there, glaring at me in a way I had never seen before. I ran the tips of my fingers over the bruise that was already beginning to form. A second later, I was storming out of the house with Arthur still standing in the kitchen, not once bothering to follow me into the cool, crisp air…
It was a long time before I saw him again. I had joined the fight in taking down Britain and was on my way to becoming promoted. Already, I had been placed higher than an ordinary soldier, seeing as I had excellent marksmanship and an undying passion for following orders. Apparently, they had thought it wise to move me up the ranks.
My performance was thanks to the extensive daily routines I had experienced as a child. Arthur had been a soldier back in his day and made it a habit to train his body to be in top shape. We even practiced on shooting, a useful thing to have, especially at the moment. I shook my head of the memories, attempting to rid them from entering my brain once more. They were events of the past that I did not wish to remember, ones that I did not need to remember.
A bullet whizzed by my head and hit the soldier to my left. I silently gasped and gritted my teeth as I thought of all of the men that had fallen. I could not help but think of it as I stood in the cool October air near the York River. The red coats were relentless as they fired their muskets, no remorse what-so-ever. Among the dozens of faces, I saw one that was unmistakable, and it sent a wave of sickness to my stomach. It was then that a shot pierced the air and I saw the man I once called father, Arthur Kirkland, fall to the ground. The person I cared most about in the world was now gone, and I would forever yearn to tell him the words, 'I am sorry…'
xXx
(A.N.) This is a story I had to write for my Creative Writing class. It had to be historical fiction, so I immediately thought of Hetalia. I love the past segments involving the Revolutionary War, and I decided I would do it on that. This may not be completely historically accurate, but oh well… If you are wondering why this is a bit OOC , I wrote it that way just for my class.
~Raingirl777