This was unusually terrible. I don't really like this fic. _ I might rewrite it later.
The sky was cloudy and dark, and rain poured ominously from the stormy clouds.
America stood over the grave, looking unusually serious.
Arthur Kirkland
A beloved brother and friend
During the Revolutionary War, England had exhausted most of his resources and troops trying to take back America. His economy had plummeted antebellum, and the people were starving. Soon, the British nation had wasted away, collapsing one day, unconscious. He had never woken up. England's land had been split up and taken. He was completely, irrevocably, gone.
And it was all America's fault.
Had he not fought, had he never struggled, England would still be alive. He would still be alive, and America wouldn't be standing over his grave, sobbing like a child. America wiped his eyes with his soaked sleeve and clenched his fist around the bundle of flowers in his hand. They were yellow roses. England would have liked them. His grip grew tighter and the thorns poked through the flimsy plastic, prodding America's hand. He used his other hand to wipe his eyes once more, and he looked down.
The hand that was holding the roses was bloody, thorns stuck in his palm. He ripped his hand away quickly, causing scarlet gashes to form on his pale skin. The rain washed away the blood, the reddish water dripping onto the yellow roses carelessly dropped on the grave. He hissed slightly in pain, watching the murky rainwater fall onto the flowers, covering them with scarlet splotches. America watched in fascination, watching the petals fall off and float around in the pool of red. He winced slightly, but did nothing as he bled out onto the yellow petals, watching them swirl around in some sort of dance.
He drew back his hand slowly, and looked once more at the plain tombstone, wiping away tears that had unexpectedly formed again. He looked up at the grey sky, hoping that England was in a happier place. Someday, he would join him. It was a grim thought.
As America walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder to see the mess of yellow and red take on a new shape, the petals forming the faint outline of a heart.