Prologue

It was strange for the longest of times to sit on a patio chair, staring out at his garden, and not see or hear the pitter patter of small feet. The sound of a loud childish call of his name, the ghost of the past was always haunting him too early in the morning.

The chirping of birds pinched at each nerve as a sizeable headache formed over his temples, and a green clothed arm had risen so that he might cup his hand over his temper. The birds rose high into the sky, small wings fluttering attempting to be strong…as though they had been mere baby birds in a nest moments before. Thrusting their way to the clouds, they sped off fluttering as small birds do…far from his sights. His hand touched against his large and fuzzy eyebrows, and he could only wince at the image of a small boy in a christening gown, running at full speed through the hedges, giggling at his loudest and chasing after a blue monarch butterfly.

Some had said that he was always far too harsh on the child, much like gravity to a baby bird, but he couldn't have argued any more on the topic. He remembered the times he had slaved over his creations to the young nation, fingers blistered and splintered, arm in a sling as he presented the toy soldiers which were freshly painted for the young boy. It was a heart ache to imagine what fate his hard work might have come to, knowing Alfred, he probably had tossed them in the trash to make way for a tribute to himself as the hero of the world, the Stupid git. Still…

Sipping at his chamomile tea with a scone on the patio table, he couldn't help but remember Alfred Jones as the sweet boy he once was. The dimples rising at the simplest smile, he could see the way that the boy would hold up his latest achievement, and he would merely pass an eye over the boy's work and then judge each merit with a critical eye. His harsh judgmental quips at the smaller nation's expense had always been taken mildly or shrugged off. It wasn't until Alfred grew to stand taller than himself did the boy decide that he was a man and needed no more judgment from his elder nation. He had made his attempt to fly from the nest…

( Iggy, Iggy, Arthur Iggy, Alfred: Time Break.)

Sitting back on his leather throwback chair, Alfred had a bag with three cheeseburgers beside him. There was nothing like a cheeseburger, deep fat fried with a side of French fries to consume all his woes. His brown leather jacket and the business suit and tie he wore underneath were saturated with fries and spots of oil as he sat, thinking deeply with a bag of chips at his side.

It was something forbidden at Arthur's grotesquely large mansion to gorge on fatty foods, but he had no desire to go back to that stiff old man. His every moment would be judged, and England would attempt to show America that he was still just a child when he yearned to prove himself as a man.

With his boots up on the recliner's foot stool, he made a point to make a slight mess of his couch…thinking of the ear ache he would have at Britain's. He still wondered if maybe he missed him slightly…it hadn't been that long since America had left his arms…but then maybe he found someone else to care about?

It didn't matter much to America though because he had the top of the line everything, and he was happy just the way he was without that British snob! He didn't need Arthur anymore than he needed any more saturated oils and cholesterol but still, that wasn't going to stop him from enjoying his cheeseburger and fries. To hell with England and his brick-tasting scones! He'd show him…He was the nation to make all nations jealous…He was America!