In honor of my nation's birthday, Happy Birthday America, I have written this fiction for the fourth of July. It's not smutty or anything but it is sad, so if you cry easily, you might want to keep a box of Kleenex handy. Okay, here we go! By the way, I own nothing.

Now York City was alive with festivities. The American population was all too happy to treat this as a joyous holiday. They celebrated the date of independence with an abandon that was rarely seen otherwise.
But, in New York Harbor, at the top of the most symbolic pieces of statuary in the world, one person was not celebrating.
Alfred F. Jones sat on the rim of the torch, back against the flame. He looked out across the ocean, silent and obviously unafraid of the fatal height he was perched at.
Three days ago he'd smiled and celebrated with his brother, glad to know Matthew too had reason to be happy. Two days ago he'd looked at the calendar and frowned, knowing the date grew near. Yesterday he'd locked up his apartment in Washington D.C., got in his car and joined the hundreds of people heading to the Big Apple.
He'd parked in the garage at his New York home, put his bags in the kitchen and then walked to the ferryboat landing that would take him to the feet of his symbol.
He'd climbed the hundreds of stairs, he had access to that privilege and, once he'd reached the crown, he'd waited for nightfall. Once the darkness of night had enveloped the sky, he'd climbed out to the torch.
He didn't fear the drop below him. It couldn't kill him.
Because Alfred F. Jones was just a name he'd taken to keep anonymous. He wasn't human. He was the literal incarnation of the United States of America.
To him, history wasn't something in a textbook, to be looked at and thought of as facts gathered and recorded. He'd lived everything, the Revolution, the War of 1812, the Civil War; each decade that passed left its memory. Some were bloody, others peaceful and some, namely the 60's 70's and 80's, were just plain nuts.
So to Alfred, today wasn't a happy day. During the 256 years that had passed, he could only remember maybe ten birthdays that he'd gladly celebrated his birthday.
Those had been in the early days, when he'd thought that he should be glad to be free of all influence save the prosperous trade that flourished. Sure things were hard, but that was to be expected of a new nation.
But then one day, he'd walked into his house and realized that he had no one to come home to. His children, the states, had their own homes. They visited often, of course, but that was hardly the point. He'd forced the one person that had mattered out of his life.
So now he sat, watching the sun set and the pyrotechnics that his people loved so much begin to light the sky with flowers of red, white and blue light. The fireworks made dull booms that echoed in his ears.
Unbidden, a memory rose to replay itself.

The fire was spreading to fast for the fighters to control. Buckets wouldn't be enough. Alfred stood, shell shocked, watching the President's home burn. Booms sounded in the distance as the two sides exchanged fire. He had to get back to the battle, but he watched the fire, tears flowing down his soot streaked cheeks, cutting clean paths in the grime. Without warning, a gun was pressed against the back of his head.
"So, you came after all." He said flatly, not taking his eyes from what his enemy had done.
"Yes, of course. I wished to see your face when I took you back."
Alfred whirled.
"You wouldn't dare. You signed that agreement! I'm INDEPENDENT!"
The man smirked. For all his growing, Arthur still had several inches on the boy. But Alfred always seemed taller. But, not now. Now the tables had turned…

Alfred waved away the memory. He didn't need this, not now.
"Hey Dad, are you enjoying the show?"
Alfred started and looked up.
Standing on the top of the flame was his son, Dane. The personification of New York State hopped down to sit beside his father.
They really didn't look much alike. Alfred was tall, muscular and blonde. Dane was shorter, leaner and a reddish brunette. They also appeared to be the same age. They were, in a way, more brothers than father and son.
But, like the other states, Dane was inclined to call him "Dad" or, in the case of James, embodiment of Delaware, "Father".
"Not exactly, can't stop thinking."
Dane nodded. He understood perfectly.
"Neither could I. I can promise you this, everyone, from Misty," Maine, "to Alec," California, "has gotten as high into the sky as they can. They're all looking east, wondering the same thing you are. What if…"
Alfred sighed, not wanting to think of his fifty kids, all alone or, in some cases, not, watching similar fireworks and thinking that maybe things could be different.
"Sometimes, I do wonder if I made the right choice."
Dane put a hand on his dad's shoulder, "So do I. So do the rest of us. Remember. No matter what happens. You aren't alone in any of this. All of us stand behind you. Even if you can't see us at the time. We are part of you, and you are a part of us. That's what those fireworks mean."
They fell silent after that and watched the fire dance across the sky. As the displays drew to an end, Dane stood.
With a silent smile he jumped to the crown of his monument, saluted his father, and left.
As he did, Alfred could only remember when he'd first heard those words.
It had been on a battlefield, and he'd just left the one he loved more than anything else.
His phone buzzed then.
Pulling it out, he recognized the number.
"Artie?" He said, amazed.
"Why aren't you at your house, git? I came to celebrate your bloody birthday."
For a moment, he sat in shock, and then he smiled.
"You know where the Statue of Liberty is, right?"

Hey, so what did you think, good or bad. Dane, and his siblings, might make an appearence in another fic someday but until then, no promises. Hope you enjoyed it and happy 4th!