England sat in his library, drinking tea, reading the newspaper of the day. His tea steamed while the hot liquid sat untouched. He was too focused on what he was reading to notice. The newspaper read that America had declared war within itself, not more than a century on his own. England was shocked. Did he do something wrong?
England sighed as the newspaper tilted back in his hands. He noticed the tea. Quickly, he took a sip. England's expression changed as he noticed it was Earl Grey, and not English Breakfast. At this point, he didn't mind. He knew now that he had to do something. A Civil War. He didn't think such a thing would happen. He stood up, leaving the paper by his tea. He had to get changed and pack.
England rang the service bell. His butler came in within seconds.
"Sebastian, please let George know that I will be up to change in a bit." George was England's valet.
Sebastian nodded and replied, "May I ask why you are in such a rushed state?"
"I must leave at once. I need to pack my things and take my leave to America."
Sebastian simply nodded once more. He walked out and shut the door. England leaned against a nearby bookshelf. He wondered what everyone else would think. Would they blame him? After giving America his independence, he was a bit of a joke.
With another sigh, England walked back to his tea and gulped it down. It was unlike him to do so, but where he was going, he may not get a chance for more tea.
America stood there with a grim expression on his face, what other expression had he? As he stared out the window watching line after line of blue go by he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. They were returning from a bitter defeat at a place called Bull Run creek. Now it was official, now it was real. He had felt the change within himself the moment it had started of course, the indescribable feeling that he wasn't the same person he had been when he had gone to sleep the night before. He didn't dislike who he had become really, but he knew he shouldn't stay this way. His was mostly the same that he always was but he felt hollow, like a book that has had some of its pictures ripped out.
"They look so beaten," He mumbled and felt a slight bit of discuss as they went by. He immediately hated himself for that thought. When he saw the splashes of brown in the blue and remembered how many of them were just militia, hardly an army really. They were mostly young boys who had never seen a fight, and it wasn't like it was their entire fault. The higher ranking officers had let them down. He could only imagine the look of shock and discuss that dawned his face when the order to retreat came. He felt like disobeying and rallying any solider that would follow him, but what he could do? To all of them he was just a very young looking Lieutenant.
"Hope I haven't kept you long son." He heard the aged but strong voice say from behind him. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't heard the door open.
"Not at all sir." He replied and spun around to form the perfect salute. President Lincoln sat down at his desk and sighed. The sadness in his expression was so palpable that America could feel it emitting from him.
"So tell me…" the President began."…because I have the feeling that any high ranking officer will not give me an accurate picture of what happen….how bad was it?"
The young looking man took a little time before responding. "In truth, I thought we were close to breaking them early on, but it came undone before I knew what was happening. I'd say the boys have bigger wounds to their pride then anything." He said finally and tried to sound joyful for the first time in months.
"Well, I wish the papers had your positive outlook about it…" Lincoln said and looked outside the window at the moving lines of blue.
"Their having plenty of good things to write about when we lick'em next time!" America said with confidence and clinched his fist. He then instantly tried to adjust the glasses that were no longer on his face, and the bitter taste returned to his mouth.