Entry number 1:
Dear Secret Diary,
I am scared. The 13 are getting stronger. I can hear them all the time now. They are whispering in my head all time, not just when something major happens. More of them are getting angry about anything England does. Virginia will not even let herself be called to be called British.
I tried to tell England about them, but South Carolina told me not to tell him, and then Pennsylvania told me to ask to go outside. And just I did. I am scared. They are supposed to be me. I am America. I should be able to control them. Not the other way around.
Entry number 2:
Dear Secret Diary,
All the thirteen have exactly three things in common: they all hate England, they all disagree with me, and they all are really good at giving rants. I have listened to hours of ranting about the soldiers on their lands and the taxes they are paying for the soldiers. But it does not make since. It scares me. How can they hate England when I love him? How can they disagree with me when they are me? I am America and they are the American colonies. We are should be one. It scares me.
Entry number 3:
Dear Secret Diary,
I do not care what they say. England is my big brother, and I love him. I will not betray him. They might be able to keep me from telling him about them, but they cannot make me fight him. They cannot make me betray him. I will not. Being loyalist is a good thing.
I will stay loyal to the crown. I will not betray big brother England.
Entry number 4:
Dear Secret Diary,
I am scared terrified. Massachusetts is bleeding. He wants revenge. He says he wants to kill England. They all agree him. They want to break free. They want independence from England. I tell them I do not want to. I tell them I is ridiculous. They tell me I do not understand. They call me a loyalist (like always). They talk in my head, and it is getting harder for me to hear them. They talk like I cannot hear them at all. Yesterday I heard them talking about a new America. I do not understand. I am scared. I am America, and there is no way they can take that away from me.
Right?
America scrambled back, finding himself pressed against the wall. In front of him, there is a teenage boy who… who looks exactly like him. Wearing an army uniform. A blue army uniform. Not British. Which meant… which meant Massachusetts was serious when he said they were going to revolt.
"Who-who are you?" he managed to ask.
"I am America," he grinned, "and they," he spread his hands, gesturing to the thirteen lined up behind him, "are the United States." Then Virginia –Virginia, the girl who he had grown up with– pulled out a pistol and handed it to- to- to the new America.
America's head we swirling with thoughts and questions. How is this possible? I am America. Do you really think you can win against England? But as he stared down the gun barrel, stark terror pushed all other thoughts aside.
"Last chance. Whose side are you on?" Click went the gun.
"Big Brother England's," whispered America.
BANG!
