The United Kingdom, London

November First, 1765

England's P. O. V.

England should have been more happy. He had done it. He had beat France, once again, and managed to keep his colony safe.

At the thought of the young colony in New England or rather The Thirteen Colonies caused a small and fleeting smile to flicker across his freckled face.

As all parents did; he loved his child. He had cared, natured, helped, and protected the small azure eyed colony to the best of his abilities. He had watched the child continue to grow in the slow way representatives do.

But as all parents come to realize, as he did now, children grow up. He knew the small brilliant child he had cared was now a daring young man ready to prove his worth. And England knew the boy was waiting for a chance to gain freedom.

Well, the Briton mused, he is still quite young. Perhaps this will fly over his head.

This.

This was the Stamp Act. A taxation to be ordered on the North American colonies for the war he, and his people, fought to protect the colonists from French rule.

Winning the war came with a heavy price -- literally. They needed money to pay for the war and the most reasonable solution, according to the parliament, was taxing the colonist.

He, himself, had been against it. They could gather more resources and trade with the other nations or somehow find a way but his ideas were quickly shot down.

England knew for sure someone would be upset over this. No one in their right mind would allow their rights; their voices to just be shifted out.

He knew this would just add a crack to the dam about to burst...

And he was right.