Dear Alfred Kirkland

No, no, that isn't right. He isn't that anymore.

Dear Alfred F. Jones

I hate you. Go to hell, you bloody wanker. I don't want to see you again. I never want to hear your voice, I never want to see that smile again

No, I'm not going to lie this time. Maybe if I'm honest to him, I'll actually send it this time, instead of having another piece of paper to burn.

Well, here goes nothing.

Dear Alfred F. Jones,

I want to write something mean. Something saying that I hate you, something saying that I never want to see that smile of yours again. I have written…a tenfold of letters stating this, but I have never been able to send them. Maybe it is because they aren't true, and some part of me can't send them to you unless I mean them.

You're an independent nation now. You're ready to face the world, you're ready to make a name for yourself. I can't tell you how proud I am that you're making your mark on the world, I have faith that someday you'll be something great. Just like those heroes you used to love so much in the stories I used to tell you. I wish you the best of luck in your adventures; you're on your own now.

The house will seem empty without you around. I can already hear the unfamiliar sound of creaking and groaning, but I suppose it's just growing old, as I am. Matthew has gone on as well at this point, though I have no doubts in his ability to succeed. Look after him though, he is your brother after all. Remember that sometimes you have to look back in the past to find the answers to the future.

…And here I am, lecturing you again.

As if you ever listened in the first place. I fear I have digressed from the original intent of this letter though.

I wish you only the best of luck, Alfred F. Jones.

United States of America.

As you stated before, you are no longer my little brother. I will stay out of your business and remain at a level a friend might be.

Hope your future is bright.

Sincerely,

Arthur Kirkland.

Representation of Britain.

Tear stains mark the page, a sort of tremble making the handwriting nearly unreadable. For a few moments, bright green eyes simply stare at the page, before the letter is put into a box.

It was never sent.