This all kinda came about by a prompt in my English class. He told us to pick a fictional character and change the setting and see how they react to the setting. I (obviously) picked England and wrote. I said, "What the hell, I'll type it out." So, now you're reading it as an one shot! Enjoy! USUK if you squint.
Settings
I open my eyes to find myself in a place that I didn't at all expect. Blue skies above, the clouds flying over me, and a light breeze hit me.
I sat up to find myself in a meadow with lush grasses, long and overdue for a cut. About half a mile on all sides of me was a mixture of pine and oak trees.
I stood up and wondered how I got here. Suddenly a wave of anger came over me, what of infantile joke was this? And how in Excalibur's sword did they get him to sleep long enough to get here?
After a long rant over nothing- realizing late because no one was playing a prank on me- I notice that I'm completely alone. These days being a country is a lot of work, meetings, calls; I can never be left alone. Taking some time to myse3lf, I sat back down to calm my mind and relax. Now that I think about it, this looks like the same meadow where I first found America…
I shut my eyes, trying to think back to happier times, when an explosion was heard and the ground rumbled violently under me.
Forcing my eyes open, I found myself back in 1943; a year that I would never wish to return to. London was being bombed. My London is being bombed. I heard screams in between the bombs bursting. Some yelled for help and others wept for the family they just saw die in front of them. Not many are outside- most should be down in their basements, praying that the next one won't hit their family home- but the ones who are, are panicking.
Who wouldn't start to panic in a bombing?
I half got up, half ran from the middle of the road, in which I appeared, to an alley way to my right for shelter. My heart beating so fast I thought it would come right out of my chest.
You would think being a country that I would be used to wars and disasters. Although, even the most experienced countries, well acquainted with disaster, will never get quite used to these things. Even war gets our hearts beating and adrenaline pumping. In short, I was afraid.
Even with my own flusteredness, I managed to hear a cry of a child in the distance. Without thinking, or caring, I ran towards the sound.
With another explosion, I saw the little girl cowering against a building in a fetal position. From I could see, she was clutching a stuffed rabbit for her dear life.
Debris fell everywhere, and the air was riddled with shrapnel.
I scooped the little girl up in my arms, and ran to get us to safety. Earsplitting explosions seeming to follow us, the thought made me run even faster. The little girl whaled in my arms. I rubbed her back, murmuring a lullaby I used to sing to America as a child, as I gave up running and huddled into an alleyway.
The bomb's screams slowly turned into a sound of a thunder storm. The girl's weight melted away into a lighter, longer piece of mass.
I was on my knees; the rain rolled off my shoulders and into the blood stained soil.
I looked at what was in my hands; it was my musket, from the Revolution. My sleeves were red with detailed cuffs.
I looked ahead of me, trying to see through the fog, while the rain was causing me to drown with my shock.
Dead bodies were littered all around me. Some were wearing red, others blue, the rest wearing ragged coats and slacks. All of them were leaking red, running with the rain. A figure was walking away from me, a long blue coat fluttered against his back; I didn't even think otherwise as to whom it was.
"AMERICA!" I shouted with rain rolling down my face, tears somewhere in the mixture.
But just like he was there, he was gone.
A stabbing pain ripped thru me, where my heart ought to be. "Please come back," I whispered as my eyes opened.
I was safe in my nice bed in my London mansion. I glanced at my alarm clock that features the date. It's July 4th.