Barefoot
"OW!"
A nearby farmer looked up in the direction of the shout. With an exasperated sigh, he propped his shovel against a wooden crate and walked over to a young preteen sitting on the ground, clutching his foot.
"Hey Alfred, now what have I told you about walking around barefoot?"
The young nation felt his face flush as he avoided eye contact with the man's towering figure. "...uh. Not to?"
The older man slowly smiled and ruffled the younger boy's hair before reaching out his calloused hand. With a cheeky grin, Alfred accepted the offer and pulled himself up.
"You gotta watch yourself, Alfred. Stay strong and healthy until your daddy comes back from overseas. And that means safe too."
The boy's grin faltered momentarily before shifting to a thankful smile.
"Yeah... Thank you very much, sir!"
With a soft pat on the head, Alfred watched the old farmer lightly limp back to his field. The budding nation shifted his attention to the small puncture wound on his heel. It had already sealed, and looked a few days old.
Alfred sighed before looking up at the sky, gazing at the clouds overhead.
That is... if Arthur ever comes back at all.
Word Count: 200. As a joke, due to lack of inspiration, I asked a friend of mine to give me a random word to incorporate into a small drabble. She replied with "barefoot" and my World History teacher happened to say something like "colonial America" at the same time. I got the idea of how Alfred spent his time when Arthur left for Europe. And if you squint, Alfred starts to make observations on how as time passes, everything ages, except for him.