Alfred F. Jones leaned back against the wooden chair, his eyes closed. If one didn't know better it looked as though he was asleep. His face was unmoving and sangfroid. An uncharacteristic calm seemed to surround him like a cloud while outside his window guns roared and young men died, Alfred could almost feel each death as though it was his own.

But he was used to it now. Arthur hadn't visited his brother in years and only sent an occasional messenger. Of course that was the way Alfred like it, life was much simpler went he was the only one in charge. But after Francis had attacked him, Arthur of course defending Alfred, he felt weaker than ever.

He had grown up a lot since then. Before the French and Indian War he had been a kid, still playing house and enjoying life. While in the past few years he had shot through adolescence leaving the innocence of his past behind. He began to see England with unclouded eyes for the first time.

One lone tear slipped down his cheek and his eyes opened and then leaned forward in the chair picking up the ink well and pen. He reached for a black sheet of paper, his arm shaking almost as if he was uncomfortable with his own position of authority. He paused, once the deed was done there was no turning back, but his decision had been made long ago.

England.

He wrote, the words flowing roughly from the pen.

I'm sorry but I cannot let you kill my people. Diplomats this very second are revising a Declaration of Independence but I felt that you should hear this from its very source.

I don't need you anymore Arthur. Ever since the French and Indian War things haven't been the same. And they never will be the same. I'm not some kid that you can show off as a prize to your friends anymore. I'm leaving.

Alfred took a breath and pulled another sheet of paper out from his desk drawer and continued to write.

You'll probably put up a fight; it would be just like you to. But please don't. I still want to be your friend. I want to be your brother Arthur. But if you attack me then I doubt that it will ever be achieved. I pray that someday you will understand and we can once again be brothers but until that day comes we are enemies, even though the very idea causes me pain.

My people have already suffered enough from the taxes you have forced on them. Your occupation isn't wanted here anymore Arthur. I don't hate you but my people do, and I have to do justice and listen to the majority.

Goodbye.

Sincerely, Your Brother

America

P.S. Don't look in Boston Harbor.

A nock on the door finally brought Alfred`s attention away from the tear stained letter. It hadn't been until then that America had even known he had been crying.

"Sir!" The voice behind the door called out "The British are at our doorstep! We need to deploy the recruits!"

America looked sadly at the door "You didn't waste any time brother, what a pity." He murmured

"Let's go kill some British!"