Blood filled the americans eyes as he stared down the barrel of his rifel. "Give me liberty"he snapped. his voice shaky but clearly trying to be coverd. "or give me death"
THe englishmen laid broken on the ground. Coverd in mud and dirt. His sun golden hair, that once sat with the regal feel of a lions mane now defiled in the blood of his fallen brethren.
He didnt know what to do. THe boy before him. the one he had raised from a small child was now prepared to kill him if he was prepared to give him what he longed for.
He laid there and stared down that barrel. The cold pipe of steal.
His heart raced. His fingers frozen to the core from the surrounding rain.
"cant we...talk this over"he asked with a gentle voice as he moved one hand twords the american the gun clicked.
He had cocked it and it was ready to fire. "dont move, or the bullet leaves this gun"He said with a cold but now steady voice.
Where had that little boy gone. THat nice little boy that nursed him back to health after his rough battles.
The one that would run around the house in his old pirate drag and build a ship of the living room furniture.
That little boy no long existed.
England made one swift move ment and got the american to his back side the gun slid from his hands as the englishmen held him to the ground, mud splashing in his eyes as they fell.
"get off me you basterd"the american spat flailing under the others weight and throwing mud at his face.
Arthur stayed there and took it as he watched the boy flail under his arm. "why would you want to leave me"he asked. "i give you everything you need, everything you ask for and this is how you repay me"he said his voice going from calm and longing to anger and resent.
The brit brought a fist down straight across the americans face. Over and over, his fists fell to his skin, his bones bruising his hands, his skin breaking under his knuckles. Each strike followed by a soft sob.
America finally found the strenght to fight back and pushed the bri off his body with a kick to the back and as he fell into the puddle of mud and blood the american kicked him square in the gut. Over and over, rolling the british over and over in pain, his ribs snapping under each foot fall.
He reclaimed his gun cocking it to a loaded position once again and pointed it at the man he once called his father.
"long live the king"he said with a stone cold face, and a emotionless tone.
The gun went off.
A light flashed and everything stood still.
The english laid there, unmoving as the american stuck the gun barrel down in the ground at his head.
"What did the world do to us"he asked with tears now running down his face as he turned and left.
Today nothing stands but the old gun. Buried up to the trigger in dirt but still very much visible. Atop it hangs a black silk monmouth cap with a long white feather stained in blood at the tip. Torn and tatterd of weather and rain but still beautiful to be hold. Next to that gun sits a plack.
To whom reads this, please note:
This man was the strongest.
This man was wise.
This man with Emerald Green Eyes.
He was the bravest of pirates to sail the seas.
This man was my father, and for ever in my heart he will be.
The world is cruel and turns hearts like mine to black.
and when you feel the world kicking, you kick back.
cause when you lose something you hold dear to your heart.
There will never be a way to return to the start...
-Long Live the King.