Kneel in silence, alone…

My spirit bares me

Pray for guidance, towards home

In Darkest hours…

xXxX

My name is Emily Felicity Kirkland. I am a proper young lady; I go to church every day, I work extremely hard to make life bearable out here in the unforgiving country-side, and I always speak when spoken to.

However, I'm not like other girls. Other girls stay home and obey their husbands. Other girls are meek and humble; they don't work outside in the filth and the harsh, torrential heat like I do. No, their duty is to go to church, thank the Almighty Father for all that they have, and take care of the little ones.

I am different. I have specific duties to fulfill. You see, I am a British colony. I am the South. I am the North. I am the middle. I'm not just some mere British colonist.

I, Emily Felicity Kirkland, am everything. From the barbaric, never-ending woodlands, to the rolling mountains, to the fruitful tobacco, cotton, and indigo fields…

I am the New World. Well, at least this part of it. I believe that my guardian had given me an alternate name, besides Emily. I believe that it was America. Yes. That was it. America. And as America, it was my duty to step forward, and work as hard as I could for my beloved guardian.

Who is my beloved guardian, you ask? Why, it is none other than the Great British Empire of course.

Arthur Kirkland.

He has given me everything that I need; he has been there to care for me, nurture me, educate me, provide me with the necessary materials in order to ensure my survival…yes, the road of progression has not been smooth. I do recall the misery of the sixteen-hundreds; though I was a very young girl at the time, I starved along with my fellow colonists in Jamestown, digging through graves to feast on corrupted corpses, going to sleep with an empty stomach… what a harsh, harsh winter.

Nevertheless, here I am now, stronger than ever. And I am overflowing with pride. I find it a wondrous privilege to declare myself a loyal, British subject… a beneficial, nurturing British colony.

I know that Mr. Kirkland depends on me. I must work hard for him. The citizens of Great Britain need us; we have the raw materials that they don't have. We have the right wood and lumber, the ability to build immense ships, excessive amounts of beavers for fur-trapping, rice, tobacco, and indigo…

My dear guardian deserves it all. After all, he has worked very hard to get to where he is now; the top of the world, the naval power of Europe, the great British Empire. And I am overjoyed to be a part of his empire, to be able to contribute to his ever-growing stamina.

Not only do I receive high praise from dearest Mr. Kirkland, but I know that I will be rewarded in the once I die.

Desiring to do all of these things for my people, for Mr. Kirkland, for the Almighty Father… that must be a sign that I am a part of the elect right? When I die, I will be rewarded with eternal paradise, forever in God's arms.

Yes. I most definitely will be.

That is what Mr. Kirkland tells me anyways. Yet, I know for a fact that he is not a man of God. He does not believe in the elect, nor does he believe in pre-destination. You do not understand how concerned I am for his fate. I pray for him every night, asking God to spare him. I know that my efforts are fruitless; the Almighty Father has already chosen who the golden gates of heaven will be opened to, and who will burn in the fiery pits of Hell with Satan and all of his other fallen comrades.

But Mr. Kirkland is too kind, too wonderful to go to hell, right? Of course. I can never imagine such a great, golden-hearted man burning in hell.

God must have great plans for him.

I cannot say that life is easy for me, but I must not complain. Selfishness and ungratefulness are grave sins. I will not subject myself to such petty disgrace.

However, being a woman who engages in man's work, I have received my fair share of insults. There is not a day that goes by where I am given the occasional glare, the look of disapproval. Being the British colony that I am, I am obligated to defend my people, to pick up a weapon and run with my comrades.

Mr. Kirkland keeps telling me that I must not worry what others think, that learning to engage in combat is essential to fulfilling the duties that I am obligated to fulfill.

I can tell that the other girls stare at me with apprehension, point their clean, round little fingers at me from the safety of their houses. I am the only female who can engage in combat, who can pick up a weapon and use it just as efficiently as any grown man can. I've already had my fair share of experiences.

Indians, thieves, and most recently, the French.

Oh, what a glorious day… to be able to finally show Mr. Kirkland how useful I really have grown to be. If it weren't for me, I don't think he would've stood a chance against those nasty French frogs. I realize that he is very busy with affairs back overseas… therefore, it is my honorable duty to defend Mr. Kirkland's possessions here. On his…no…my land.

On my soil.

And it worked. Thanks to me, the French have been driven out, never to return again. All they have now are those puny little sugar islands down in the southern seas.

That is proof of God's plan at work, right there. The French were not meant to be victorious.

I will forever raise my weapon as a proud British subject, whether I am male or female.

Because I am Emily Felicity Kirkland, and nothing…absolutely nothing can mutilate my loyalty to Arthur Kirkland …to the glorious Kingdom of Great Britain.

xXx

…Do you hear me, Emily?

It's me. Amelia F. Jones.

You've been deceived, brainwashed, used.

It's time for you to break free.