It was April 15, 1945...the date of President Franklin D. Roosevelt's funereal. Alfred the personification of the country America was standing at his grave crying.
"It's all my fault." He says
Suddenly a figure comes up behind him. It's his best friend Arthur the personification of Great Britain.
"It's not your fault Alfred. You did what you could to save him." Arthur tells him.
"It's my fault! If I wouldn't have worked him so hard, this wouldn't have happened!"
"Alfred you couldn't have done anything that would've prevented this. He suffered for long enough with this aliment, it was better that it happened now rather than later. Come on lets get you home."
Alfred didn't reply he just followed Arthur to the car and got in the passenger door. He looked out the window to the grave one last time before looking down at his feet with tears in his eyes.
Arthur started the car and drove Alfred back to his house.
*time skip*
Alfred and Arthur had just walked into Alfred's apartment it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Alfred had been silent the whole ride home which had caused Arthur to worry about him.
'He was unusually quiet the whole ride home. I would check if he's ok.' He thought.
"Alfred are you alright?" He asked
Alfred didn't answer. All he did was look at Arthur then walked up to his room.
'That's strange. Maybe I should follow him upstairs.'
As he walked up stairs toward Alfred's room he heard loud sobs which could've only come from Alfred
'he's really upset about what happened. I don't like to see him like this.'
Although he would never admit it Arthur enjoyed the cheerful American's presence. Even though it's only been a few days Arthur misses the loud, obnoxious, overly cheerful American. He wasn't used to seeing him cry. In fact he hated seeing him like this and is willing to do anything to make him smile again.
*to be continued*