It was raining that day…
"Hey, England," America said to me in a husk tone, "I just want freedom. I'm neither a child nor your little brother. I'll become independent from you from now on!"
All my soldiers had fallen, and there was just me. He lost barely a handful of men. His gun was pointing at me, his eyes filled with anger. Anger that I caused him. It was obvious he wanted to kill me.
I really couldn't believe I was witnessing. America used to be so frail, so innocent. But he's all grown up now. Where's that little boy I fought over that damned France for? Where's that little boy who begged me not to leave when I had to return home? Where's that little boy that crawled into my bed at night when he got scared?
Where'd my little boy go?
Standing my ground, I swallowed my sweet memories and charged towards the nation before me, the bayonet on my musket thrusting forward.
"I won't allow it!" I shouted as I made contact with his gun, surprising him. Unable to withstand the impact, the gun flew out of America's hand and onto the wet ground. My pants were coming out shakily, and he didn't lose his guard. "This is why I say you don't follow things through to the end, you dummy." By then, America started looking worriedly at the weapon in front of him.
"F-Fire!" America's general commanded. All the soldiers held out their guns, but no one shot yet.
I lowered my gun and looked at him sadly. "There's no way I could shoot you, is there? You dummy!" I dropped my weapon and fell to the ground in tears. "Dammit! Why? Dammit!"
America looked down at me sadly, like I was a fool.
"England…"
"Let's go home," I said and held out my hand, smiling.
"Okay!" the small country before me agreed, smiling just as big.
He held my hand in such a happy manner.
"You were so great once…" my once little brother stated.