I remember.

I remember when I first laid eyes on him.

I knew right at that moment that he was destined for great things.

I could see it. In those blue eyes that reflected the sky, in that smile that out-shined the sun, in that charismatic vigor packed within his tiny, growing body...

He was strong. So, so strong.

And happy.

Yes, I watched him time and time again as he cried out in grief, in pain, in distress...

But he would always end up smiling because I believe that... I believe that he knew that things would get better. That the various colonial hardships would only make him more powerful.

His happiness and optimism were contagious, even in the darkest of times.

He was my precious candlelight in the endless, spiraling, pit of nationhood.

I remember carrying him in my arms as he fell asleep against my bosom. I remember singing him a lullaby as I tucked him into bed. And when I wasn't busy taking care of other affairs, I would devote my free time to crafting toy soldiers for his sole entertainment.

He was the loveliest, most beautiful child in the world.

I treasured his adoration, because I adored him too.

With every look of blissful awe he gave me, I gave him one in return.

But then...the years passed.

They passed ungracefully...days littered with hardship and turmoil and war...

Things took a change for the worst.

I could no longer treasure that adoration, because he no longer gave me any.

I could not look him in the face anymore without seeing that harsh, cold desire of his to leave me.

I could no longer look at him because he wasn't a child anymore.

I should have known that the ship was sinking.

I should have known that there was absolutely no way that I could keep him.

He grew up so fast, and though he never lost that enigmatic charisma, his attitude towards me had transformed. He yelled at me, berated me, accused me of taking advantage of him and his people. He told me to get out of his territory and that my soldiers and I could burn in hell.

And as painful as his words were, I kept my foot down. I assured him that I was doing what was best for him. I wanted him to know that I still cared, and didn't want to lose him. I would do absolutely anything to keep him with me. I even succumbed to force, which further fueled the toxic fire of our relationship.

I look back on it now and wonder how I could have been so foolish. He was a young, strong, vigorous power destined for victory, and even then, at the peak of my power as the British Empire, I couldn't hold him back.

I was doomed from the start.

So I wasn't surprised when we stood on opposite ends of the battlefield in Yorktown, muskets drawn and pointed at each other.

I somehow knew that it would lead to this.

I remember how he looked under the pouring rain, a towering figure clad in red, white, and blue, his eyes devoid of mercy as they swallowed me whole.

My finger was ghosting over the trigger.

I wondered if I would shoot him. I wondered how it would feel to win, to see the light leave those magnetic eyes of his. To see the life pour out of him with every drop of blood. Was I really willing to put out this flame? Was I so selfish that I would rather have him dead at my hand, than alive and independent?

And what about him? Was his hatred for me so great, that he was willing to destroy me? Did he want to see me bleed? To cry? To die?

I knew from the start that he was going to overpower me one day, so why was it so hard for me to just set him free?

"Alice...you've lost. Let me go."

I remember how his words pounded against my head like a series of unforgiving drums. I remember how at that moment, I was pushed to the brink of insanity.

"You despicable, FOOLISH BOY! Your naivety is absolutely repulsive! Why can't you see that I've only ever done what was best for you? Why can't you see that I"m trying to PROTECT YOU?"

My voice sounded foreign to my ears. My lungs and eyes were burning. My limbs were shaking. I was going to shoot. I was going to shoot him.

"Look at me, Alice."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"LOOK AT ME."

The force of his words seemed to slap me across the face. My eyes shot open and I found myself staring at him once again. I was mesmerized.

It felt as if I was looking at him for the first time.

I was a fool. I was a damned fool. How could I have mistaken him for a child?

For a brief second, I understood him. I understood that it was time to let go, and that he just wanted his freedom. He needed to spread his wings, and I was doing nothing but keeping him locked in an iron cage.

"It's over."

Just like that, that brief second of understanding vanished as he spoke those words. I was blinded. I was furious. How could he tell me that it was over? What bloody right did he have to just shove me aside after everything that I'd done for him? How could he just dismiss me as if I were just some cumbersome obstacle for him to surpass? Why couldn't he see that he belonged to me?

It was as if some unseen force had taken over my body.

I flung myself forward, feet splashing over the damp field, weapon raised.

I was NOT going to let him go.

"NO."

My shrill cry was quickly followed by the contact of weapon against weapon. I barely registered his musket flying through the air and landing a solid twenty feet to his left. I barely registered the agitation of his soldiers as they raised their own muskets, beady eyes trained on me...the enemy.

All I could process were my hands gripping the gun, pressing it against the forehead of the boy that meant everything to me. I had to crane my neck to look up at his face. His lips were parted in surprise, and his eyes...those eyes that captured my heart from the moment I saw him...they were trained solely on me with an unreadable flame flickering beneath those irises.

It was as if we were the only two people on this entire planet.

"If it makes you feel better, shoot me."

I was breathing hard, wondering if I had heard him right.

Shoot him.

End him.

I was in every position to shoot him.

I had the upper hand here.

The weapon was trained on his forehead.

I placed my finger firmly over the trigger.

He smiled sadly.

"Alice-"

"DON'T! DON'T TALK TO ME."

He fell silent, though his expression didn't change.

I tried to focus on anything but his face. I would never be able to finish this if I looked at his face.

But he was there. Living, breathing, and feeling. He was so close...so close that I could feel the warmth from his body, a warmth so inviting, a warmth that made me think of those clear blue skies, crisp meadows, gently flowing brooks that snaked through the woods...

A warmth that took me to the one place that I felt safe.

Home.

And home wasn't back in the motherland. Home wasn't in the cotton fields or the ships that sailed the oceans.

No, home was in the purity of the happiness bestowed upon me. Home was in the passionate, untarnished spirit of his.

Home was love. Home was America. Home was Alfred.

And I wanted to go home.

And I would never be able to go there if I destroyed it.

The frozen stalemate broken only by the torrential rainfall ceased at that exact moment.

I looked at him once more.

I dropped my weapon.

It was over.

I couldn't...no, I wouldn't shoot him. I refused.

I lost.

The fabric on my knees were immediately soaked with an opaque mixture of water and mud as I felt myself plummet towards the earth.

I didn't want him to see me cry like this.

I didn't want him to see me broken, wasted away, gone...a shadow of what I once used to be.

"...What happened to you, Alice? I remember when you used to be so great."

His voice was laced with sadness. A sadness I hadn't heard from him in a long time. And though his voice was soft, his words still shot through me like a bullet.

I couldn't look at him. Not when my shoulders were wracking with sobs. Not when I was drowning in the reality that Alfred was no longer mine. Not when he was standing over me as if he were on top of the world.

He was the victor, and I was his subordinate.

I lost because I was arrogant. I lost because I was selfish. I lost because...because... I needed him. I needed him to supply me with that rare genuine happiness, that innocent determination, that beauty...his beauty...that inspired me so much, that kept me plowing forward when I just couldn't take it anymore.

I lost because I refused to strip the world of such magnificence.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

It was all I could manage.

I couldn't tell him the truth.

I couldn't tell him that...that... I loved him.

I loved him.

I loved him.

I loved him.

And today, he is an overpowered walking target. He carries an uncanny amount of weight on his shoulders, and he has to deal with the repercussions of various foolish decisions regarding money and war.

But he's still my beacon of light. He's still walking, and talking, and breathing, and smiling.

Always smiling.

I love him.

I'll always love him.