He was the last of us to hold on, arrogant and prideful like he is. Or perhaps it was his youth? Immortality had long ago lost its appeal to me, but he still had a childish spark of enthusiasm in his eyes; there was still a world for him to discover, and his soul had not yet been crushed by the hardships of our life.
Now, I'm not saying he hasn't seen hardship. He has fought many a war by my side and on his own, he knows what it is like to be in a conflict with yourself, but viewed side by side with world history, he is still too green, and perhaps a little too powerful, to be affected by this. However, I digress.
In 2XXX the European Union, on the verge of collapse, became desperate. The few Member States that at that point still remained in the Union agreed to lose all borders and unite into a country. This created a fear of the raise of a new superpower. However the response to this move was… unexpected to say the least.
Soon it was the whole of the European mainland that had merged into a mesh of culture and language. There was chaos, at first, of course, but after the Third World War something must have clicked in people that made solving said chaos so much easier. The dwindled down population worked wonders as well. Rules were established, subclauses for areas with different languages made.
A year later I was invited to have tea with the Queen. She told me that she should suffer the most horrible consequences for the treason she had committed against me. As a nation, I stayed silent, mournful. As a person, I thanked her from the bottom of my heart. She bid me farewell and willed me to visit.
Queen Elizabeth the Second passed away in her sleep that night.
There was no longer a nation to mourn her.
He, though, stood tall and proud as ever in these confusing times. God, the world was coming down around the boy and he still fought it with everything he had, clutching his borders and traditions. Even after the whole world had united under a Utopia, the United States of America functioned on in its little bubble for two more years. Perhaps he thought he could come up with a way to fight what he could not comprehend.
Or perhaps what he couldn't comprehend was the reality that he might come to an end.
The TV caught my attention when the monotone hum of the advertisement background music changed, letting the terrified voice of a crowd fill my living room. I raised my eyes from my knitting to see the UBC (Utopia Broadcasting Company) reporter standing in front of the stairs to the National Archives of the United States.
My knitting almost tangled in my hurry to reach for the remote on the table. I jabbed my thumb against the volume up button, only sitting back satisfied once the number on the screen read 70%.
"-the borders were finally opened, letting through the special and armed forced of Utopia. The United States have finally given in, and-"
Movement of a white figure in the background caught my attention and I diverted my eyes to the deserted steps leading up to the Archives. A man stood upon the topmost one, holding something yellow up, like offering it up to the skies. He was garbed in white- the utopian colour.
The crowd fell silent and a cry of "look!" sounded from the cameraman. The reporter turned just fast enough that I could see it, before the camera zoomed in on the man. The scroll in his hand became clearly distinguishable, and then, as if he knew that he was finally being broadcast live, he rolled it open.
The Declaration of Independance hung from his hand, the yellowed paper fluttering in the wind for the first time in long years. The crowd watched in horrified silence and for a moment nothing dared to move.
Slowly, the utopian pulled his other hand from the folds of his robe, raising to the edge of the document a lighter. A push of a thumb and the flame flickered to life, the wind pushing it dangerously close to the declaration. The man pushed it slowly closer, letting the flame lick the side of the paper, charring it.
A scream broke through the crowd, causing an eruption of murmurs as it stirred the people. The utopian stood undeterred, though, and connected the flame to the paper. Dry and old, it was as if it was meant to be swallowed by the flame and in a moment, the Declaration of Independence was gone. Something that I had tried to prevent from happening by so much bloodshed was now just… gone.
"NO!" The same voice that had roused the crowd cried out again. A second later, there was a face to connect to it and I had to wonder why I hadn't recognized the scream before.
...Because I had never heard him scream that way…
Glasses crooked, hair disheveled, he stumbled up the stairs, sneakers slipping on the white marble more often than not.
"YOU CAN'T KILL ME!"
His voice, already hoarse, cracked, prompting a smirk to appear on the face of the utopian. Like a chain reaction, the change of facial expression as if kickstarted something in the American. His dirt covered fingers grabbed the white garb of the utopian, shoving him down against the stairs violently.
"I. AM. AMERICA."
Each word was punctuated by the crack of skull against the sharp edge of the marble. Blood stained the white stone, dripping downwards as a grotesque waterfall, and then all of a sudden, the screen turned black, only to display a technical difficulties message a few seconds later.
For a moment, I kept still, noticing only faintly that my nails dug into my palms and that my eyes stung from having forgotten to blink. Then my mind caught up to my body and I abruptly stood, vision flashing black for a second, but not long enough to deter me from moving to the door. Pulling my shoes on on autopilot with one hand, my other had already dialed a number and the beeping of the phone was drowning out the horrified screams of America from my mind.
Two rings, and then a familiar voice.
"Angleterre?"
"Francis, I need to-"
"Oui, you need to get to America. I'm waiting in Heathrow."
All differences aside, at that moment I could only feel one thing for this man.
"Thank you, Francis."