America ran from the hospital as quick as he could, to the now empty bomb shelter.
He climbed downstairs, the floor stained with blood. He passed the now empty bed covered in blood and bile. He turned and looked around the room. There was a chest sitting in the corner, and he opened it up. He placed the book that he wrote previously down inside.
Dear Arthur,
I am truly sorry that I could not have visited you earlier, I know what it is like to be in war. I have visited what is to be as thought of as your death bed, but I plead it not be. When I saw you in such a bad shape, guilt flooded through me. I thought I could be there sooner for you. If you don't see this in my personal writing, then hopefully you will see it in heaven. I regret the Revolution to the edges of the Earth. If I could go back in time and change it, I would. So many sleepless night during and after the war, pleading for it to be over, dreading the nightmares that will come true. It kills me, and I wish I could have been there for you.
You probably will be better by the time that you read this, but if not you will be in a better place then the dreaded world in which we humans, countries, and everything else created. I have left you some items, as you may have noticed. The first is the wooden dolls that you made me when I was younger. They are in a bit of bad shape, but I kept them anyway. I have also left you my Revolution gun. I hope this brings peace between us.
I just want you to know, even if you don't find this, it's better to know I got it out there. You have always been my favorite brother, like a father to me, but most importantly, a friend and sometimes even more.
Love Always,
Alfred F. Jones
A few years later, England found the note. America had already left back to his country and England cried. The only reason he came back down was to pay his last respects to those who had died helping him, or just in general. When he saw that, he always called America Alfred.