My world consisted of many things. None good.

Blood. Dirt. Gunpowder. Smoke. Rain.

The shouts of my men dying.

I shrank down against the torn up and muddied grass as another bullet missed me by a hair. Being shot wasn't an option. That didn't mean much. Any man here wouldn't let themselves be shot. I guess it was different for me because I might be able to survive a gunshot. I was not strictly speaking, a mortal human being. One bullet or two, I might survive. But I had my limits, just like everyone else. It sounds vain, but the truth was, if I died, then all hope was lost, for everything we were fighting for.

My name is Emily F. Jones.

My name is America.

And I am fighting for my life. I am fighting for the lives of all those I lead. We've had enough of King George and of Arthur's rule over us, the rule of the United Kingdom over its little colony.

He doesn't understand. He thinks he can control me forever. He is stifling me, and by trying to force me back into submission, my desire to be out of his hands only grows stronger. I'm not a child anymore. I'm not his little sister, or whatever he thinks I am. I've outgrown him and I will be free from him.

That doesn't mean this doesn't hurt.

I hate the fighting. I hate the bloodshed, for both of us. I can see and feel the mortal wounds of those beside me and sometimes I think I can see some of his men fall as well. Maybe I knew some of them. However it wasn't their pain I felt. I can feel the pain of my people. Every time a soldier is shot and exhales his last breath, I can feel one more little dig into my skin. They accumulate in me. Each death tears my skin apart just a tiny, tiny bit more. The tear is spreading up my stomach, so in the end, some of the blood staining my uniform is indeed mine.

That's only the surface on which this hurts me. Fighting is difficult, oh so difficult. I'm fighting Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. I try to hate him desperately. He's what's standing in the way of my freedom because he won't let me go. But… I just can't. He raised me. He found me and took me in and I grew up under him. He gave me everything I needed and wanted. And I loved him for it.

I realize just how much I'm betraying him right now. I've even gone so far as to go behind his back. Francis is supporting me. I'm being supplemented with money from Arthur's worst enemy. I almost shudder to think of how much that would hurt him if he knew. I try not to think of it. I can't afford to be soft now. My people have lost too much for me to lose my strength and will to keep fighting this war. If I lose my will… it's over. I will not subject them to that, because I want it just as much as they do.

Still.

I think of Arthur.

In my head, I giggle at the toys he gave me. I laugh at the memories of the awful food he fed me and how great I thought it was. I hum along to the lullabies he sang to me, when I would fall asleep in his arms. I smile at the beauty of his soft, clean blonde hair and hilariously thick eyebrows and his perfect, kind smile and glorious green eyes, the color of the most beautiful fresh fields I have ever seen.

How can I ever forget what he has done for me?

I never will. And I don't understand everything. I don't know what he is to me now or what I am to him. But I do understand that I love him.

I understand that I am destroying that now. I am burning my love for him to the ground with every attack, every strategy, every bullet I fire. Every bullet I fire may be the one to go through his chest.

Searing pain brings me back to reality. I gasp, looking down. This time, it was actually a bullet hitting me, right above my left breast. "Dammit," I gasp to myself. The wound is bleeding, but in the end, it missed anything too important. It won't kill me.

I look up into the grey skies and the pouring rain. The hail of bullets coming down on my men is beginning to cease. Something has changed. Some of my men are standing once again, though many are not. More small tears in my stomach. I cast my gaze out onto the battlefield, peering through the blackness and trying not to choke on the air that is so thick with smoke. The field is almost empty. The British soldiers are retreating. Except for one.

I stand and step forward, not letting myself look at the ground. It's too torn and bloody and covered with shrapnel and blood and bodies of my fallen comrades. Soon I will give them a proper burial and thank them for what they have given for us. Now though, I have something to do.

A white-haired man on a white stallion steps forward with me, but I turn and give him a look. "George," I said firmly, "I thank you for your concern, but I want to take care of this on my own. One on one. It is only right."

He nods his head and his horse takes a step back. "As you wish, Lady Jones."

I turn my attention back to the one soldier on the field. The rain is obscuring my view of him, so I cannot see his face. His uniform is red of course, and torn and dirty. My own is in a similar state, my navy blue jacket covered with wet dust and my white corset torn and bloody. As I get closer, I can see the yellow of his hair, though it's disheveled and streaked with blackness. I raise my musket, the silver of the head aimed right at his forehead. And then I'm right in front of him.

He raises his head and I force a gasp back down my throat. He looks awful. His face is gaunt and pale. I imagine he doesn't have a lot of food, and of course what he does have is shit. But my men do not have it any easier, so I force myself to not care. It is harder to ignore his eyes though. I always loved his eyes. They're truly beautiful and impossible to describe. The best comparison I can think of is the brilliance of emeralds, cut fit for his queen. But emeralds are stones, cold chunks of beryl. Maybe if the emeralds had centers of fire, burning warm. Like a warm hearth, a place of comfort and safety and love, where you could simply lie down and stare into the flames forever.

I could gaze into them forever.

They're not like that today. They're dull and exhausted. Gaunt, just like the rest of him, and there's a hollow look in them. I have seen that hollowness in the faces of my generals and in my own whenever I catch a glimpse of myself in a river or puddle. My own eyes, the color of the sky, that were once sparkling and full of life and love for everything around me. Now they are dead and haunted with the guilt and horrors of war that we have both seen. They are transfixed on me and it's killing me. He looks into my eyes and I can see myself reflected in them, in all my tattered glory.

He glares at me. For a moment it seems like the fire has been relit, but now it's burning with hatred. He's furious and hurt and I know it. I won't let myself stand down under his gaze. Arthur's own gun is down, but I keep my gun where it is, aimed to kill.

"All I want is my freedom!" I yell at him, breaking the frigid silence of the grayed field. I'm surprised at the strength and anger in my voice. "I'm not a child, and I'm not your little sister! I'm free, and you can't stop me!"

I keep my gaze steady and cold. I will not falter. He stands a little straighter, gritting his teeth. Everything is still again.

He moves fast. With a growl of rage, he sprints towards me, his gun raised and the bayonet ready to pierce into me. My eyes widen and I raise my own in fear before I hear a cracking sound. The tip of his bayonet has struck my gun. Before I realized it, he twists his gun and pries it out of my hands, sending it flying. It hits the ground a few feet away, splashing into the mud.

I'm scared of him. I won't deny it. He's breathing hard, his beautiful eyes narrowed into slits. Now, it is I who has the gun aimed right for me. Fear flashes across my eyes and I swallow. But still, I won't stand down.

"I won't allow it!" he tells me right back. He grits his teeth again. He really wants to shoot me. I can see it in him. From his point of view, I know I would deserve it. I have betrayed him so completely. "You idiot! Why can't you ever follow anything through?"

There's a quiet bray of a horse behind me. General Washington's voice calls to my men. "Aim!" There's an assorted clicking, as they all align to shoot. He's a good man, wanting to protect me.

It's between them now. Arthur is about to shoot me and my men are ready to shoot him. I'm oddly calm. All I can hear right now is my breathing, my heartbeat. The odd thing is, I swear I can hear his as well. I can do nothing right here, right now. If he wants to shoot me, so be it. I am in no position to stop him. What shall come will come now.

Something snaps in the air between us. My breathing stops and my heart does as well. All I know is Arthur. The fury of the man I know in my soul I love, aimed at me, wanting nothing more than to see me bowed before him in submission or dead. It is so hard to realize, but it has come to this.

He falters.

The silver of the muzzle is lowered. He steps back. I'm shocked that he was the one to go back first. His breathing is shaky and I realize mine is too as I gasp quietly.

"I can't shoot you," he mutters, his voice trembling. His gun falls from his hands and I take a step back myself as the man falls to his knees in front of me. He gasps, covering his face with his hand, not being able to look at me. I can't believe it. Arthur is crying.

"Why?... Dammit, WHY?" he cries. "It's so unfair… it's so unfair…"

It is unfair, isn't it?

My heart is breaking. I can feel it. The pain is truly real, just as real as the tears in my flesh. I swallow, looking down at him. He's broken. I have never seen him like this. I never wanted to see him defeated. I would have given anything to make sure he never was. But of course I am the one who drove him to this. His final breaking point.

"You know why," I murmur. My throat is closing and choking and it's not the smoke. I stared down at his form, hunched and broken.

"What happened to us," I whisper, feeling tears well in my eyes. I won't let them out, but they are already dripping to the ends of my eyelashes. "You used to be great. I was so proud to be yours," I say to him. My mouth somehow keeps forming words despite my dying voice. "But I'm not yours anymore. And I will not say I'm sorry."

I kneel in front of him. My brother, my caretaker, my leader, my friend, my love. It's too much to see him like this.

He looks up as he hears me come down to his level. I see the sorrow in his eyes and the crystal clear streams of tears flowing down the smooth and pale skin of his cheeks. Suddenly it occurs to me, hitting me hard and painfully. This might be the last time we see each other. Certainly it is the last time we will ever see each other like this, remembering what it was like to be together. From this day forward, we are both separate countries, rivals for as long as our nations stand. The realization is painful. I can't leave him like this. But I must. For my country. For the United States of America and everything I stand for. This is goodbye.

I place my hand on his cheek. Arthur's gazing at me wonderingly and there's more than pain in his eyes, though I can't identify it. I remember the feel of his skin from when he rocked me in his arms, when he'd play with me or we'd hold hands. His skin is soft and cool under my fingers. I tilt my head a little, trying to get every detail of him to memory, knowing I'd never have it back. I swear I can feel his heart beat faster now. Or otherwise it's just mine.

My eyes start to close slightly as I lean towards him. Out of the slits of mine I can see Arthur's eyes. He's confused, wondering, enchanted and sad. I stop myself just inches from him. My heart is beating fast and now I'm sure I can feel his beating just as quickly. Our hearts are in sync. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. Finally I feel the tears at last spill over my cheeks as I grip his face once again and bring my lips to his.

I can feel his amazement on his lips, some confusion as well. I remembered the feeling of his lips vaguely, from the occasions where he pressed them to my forehead or the back of my hand. Of course though I had never felt them like this. Even after the hardships of war, his mouth was soft and warm. I moved my lips against his gently, trying to memorize how they felt. He gave me a surprise of my own as I felt his hand on my face and his lips start to move against mine in return.

Warm breath flooded my mouth as he kisses me, with a strange rawness I didn't know he possessed. It seemed I was wrong. There was anger in him, but there was also want and need and desire. It wasn't all hatred and I had never been more grateful in my life. Arthur didn't hate me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could feel the rain pouring down on us and the skeptical stares of my men behind me, but I didn't really notice.

All I knew was Arthur.

For one last moment, we were together. I loved him so much. But it wasn't meant to last.

Gasping, I broke away from him. The lids of my eyes fluttered open to stare into the green depths of Arthur's eyes, gazing into mine with need. Maybe he did love me as well. But it was too late. Forcing myself to stand, I backed away from him.

"Maybe we'll meet again," I murmured to the man in front of me. "Goodbye, Arthur Kirkland."

With the kiss as my farewell, I turned, walking slowly back to my men, leaving Arthur on the ground. His eyes were boring into my back, I could feel the heat searing into my skin. For a moment again it felt like the fire was back.

The soldiers were staring at me. Some were shocked, some confused, others indifferent. General Washington nodded at me, not reacting to what he had seen at all. He just handed me a copper staff, a long thin tube of golden metal. On it hung my new flag. The edges were frayed and tattered, but the red and white stripes and the thirteen stars in the sea of blue hung true.

The troops parted for me, and I walked through them, back up over the hills. I could hear them starting to move behind me, but I stopped at the top of the hill and turned, facing them. They all looked up at me, George gazing at me in stoic approval. Behind everyone, I could still see Arthur. He had stood and his back was to me, walking away. I gritted my teeth. The man I loved was walking out of my life.

My sadness gave way to a burst of courage and determination as I plunged the flag into the soil. "Long live the United States of America!" I shouted into the sky, turning orange with dusk approaching and the clouds starting to break.

My men broke into cheers at the won battle and my cry of freedom. My eyes however, were focused on the retreating redcoat.

I will always love you, Arthur Kirkland. Pray to God that we shall one day meet again.