So, this is virtually the first Hetalia one-shot i've ever tried. I find that writing one shots for certain series varies a lot.
But, yeah, here goes. I owe much credit of inspiration to Unkle Bob and their song: Swan.
Let freedom ring. Such hopeless words, the sound of freedom ringing. But the cheers of constant celebration heard across the Atlantic told England other wise. 'Freedom' was indeed 'ringing', as it had been for the past several days straight. The shouts heard around the world told every nation that the American Revolution had come to and end and which side, true nation or colony, had surfaced victorious. No doubt the other countries of the world would soon scamper out of their homes to welcome America among their own number. They would congratulate him on his freedom, take him in to their family, or decide simply not to choose a side. But no, England would stay as he was, still in his retreated state, licking his wounds like a dog kicked once to many times. The fresh scars of war marked him clearly, still bleeding from the anger, denial, and hurt of his people. They were ugly wounds too, burns, cuts, and scrapes that stung sharply even after the very end of the war had passed. England knew that they would continue to smart for many days, years later. And even with those outward wounds to show for his effort, the single hurt that smoldered within him was by far the greatest. The soon-to-be-scars seemed to dim starkly in comparison. Betrayal Being left behind England would furiously deny both. He refused to state that he had been abandoned. He was too prideful for that. Many nations might look skeptically upon him or dismiss the fact, considering that he looked well enough, but those who knew him better thought better. Outwardly, the blonde nation looked as any country would after such a war. Beaten, bruised, bloody, defiant, and struggling to capture what remaining dignity one had left. But his eyes, normally a shocking shade of green with annoyance or mild amusement, were dead pools of a seemingly unending void. After all, it was said that ones eyes were the window to ones soul. If you looked into England's eyes, you wouldn't find particular rage or frustration or hatred. The nation's eyes were those of a young child that had lost a cherished item, a mother, a friend. They were empty and full of fear that told quite evidently that he didn't know what to do next. They made him look, not like the powerful empire that had built a fourth of the world, but like a lost child with no hand to grab onto.
They made him look like a coward.
The hatred that dwelled deep inside him was not only for America but especially for himself. He was such a damned coward. He couldn't bring himself to accept, barely think about, the truth that had fallen so devastatingly upon him.
That America would never be coming home again.
It was simply an impending event that all the world had known to happen. While England was powerful and experienced with the ways of war, America was just a foolish child. But even a foolish child, with a dream and his strength, could find the will to break away. The American Will, obviously, had been much greater than expected and England had paid dearly for underestimating his closest enemy. The beginning of the Revolution had been nothing more than a simple spat between the two, as many things had started out to be, but the fact that America was no longer a child painfully dawned on him. It seemed as if America was fully prepared to fight back against the legend of nations. So England had tried everything within his extensive line of power. Everything. Even the final words he'd spoken to America were in a final attempt to bring him back.
"I...i want you to know that...i can't let you go"
America stopped mid step, his boot clad feet uncertainly halting to a stop in the muddy rain. He was silent as he slightly turned around. Cerulean blue eyes searched the European nation's face, as if burning it into memory. For a second, just a barest flicker of the innocent and earnest face that had once belonged to the young America seemed to appear. Hope rose in England, hesitantly.
"I love you, but I never want to see you again"
America turned away mercilessly and continued to walk. This time, he didn't bother to turn back.
And so the Revolution had drawn to a close, soon to just be one among countless other wars. The world would move on and the scars on his body would be the first of the remaining pieces of the battle to leave him. Then the sharp anger would slowly ebb away and finally the painfully vivid images and memories would dull with time. But England knew that for endless years and till the day he would last see the sun or walk the Earth, that those 10 words would echo in his mind.
I love you.
I never want to see you again.
How was it? Good? Bad? Terrible? This was just a random bit of rambling but i'd like to make this into a series of one-shots that include Scotland, Hong Kong, Wales, Australia and the other once British colonies leaving Iggy. Angst will be measured in assumed relation? I dunno XD BUT PLEASE REVIEW!