Based on Tori Kelly's song 'Hollow'
Aggression- physical or verbal behavior with the intent to harm or obliterate
Nations had always had an incurable fascination, almost a hunger, for power. They needed to dominate, they needed to conquer. It was almost programmed into their blood. Perhaps that was why they fought wars. To see another nation shaken by their overwhelming strength was the only victory they needed.
So that's how America would explain away the animosity between his fights with England. It hadn't been long ago when he declared independence. It almost felt like it was the first time whenever he remembered it. England's first reaction was to laugh at the proposition like it was a joke. He had reassured him it was genuine. England responded by screaming at him to leave his study and never come back. He took refuge with some locals that night. Perhaps, he could have chosen a better time to bring up the topic. Afterall, England had just stepped off the boat to the colonies that day. And it had hurt the old nation. America had seen the way England had held his breath, the way his hands shook with strain, the way he lifted his chin slightly. America had known, ever since he was small, those were the signs that England was going to cry. He had no doubt that on that night England had exhausted his eyes crying.
This wasn't their first confrontation. The first was merely a brush, a clash of words and propositions. The words hurt, but those were only words. This one, this one had real weapons. America was walking back from a town that actually accepted their money for once when, after looking up from his thoughts, there England stood with a pistol to his face. It was unmistakable, the tremble in England's arm. Would he cry right then, in front of the colony he was about to murder? Personally, America was amazed his former caretaker managed to hold his composure for so long. Although, a slight film was covering his eyes. The onset of a breakdown. And yet he stayed so strong.
Before he understood what was happening, England tossed a pistol to him.
"Turn around and walk five paces. On the count of three, we shoot," were his instructions. Alfred swallowed. He was somewhere between guilt, fear, and duty. He hadn't intentionally thought of having to fight England because it was really something he hoped wouldn't happen.
"One."
Perhaps by wishing it wouldn't be true, he could delay time.
"Two."
Perhaps by never thinking about it, he could escape it forever.
"Three."
He had hesitated, and it cost him dearly. The bullet caught between the ribs but didn't make its way to the heart. It still was painful enough for the nation to fall to the ground. Poor England. Poor England with his tear kissed eyes, who saw the frightened America and thought only of the child who saw something in the dark. Poor America who saw the blood of his caretaker and realized, he enjoyed this feeling. And he needed more. But not now. Now, he needed to escape.