A/N: This story was done as a request by Reading Pixie. Hope you enjoy :)
I can honestly say I have never written in first-person before. (Besides essays or something.) Hope it doesn't suck too bad.
Cross-posted on Wattpad!
5th of August, 1654
Hi, Diary! I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to say in this thing, but England told me it was for me to write stuff down, like things that happened throughout the day. So, I guess that's what I should do!
My big brother, England, visited me today, just like he said he would! Oh, it was so great! Even though I haven't seen him in a long time, it's at least a good thing to see him sometimes, right? Especially when he gives me such nice presents when he does. Like today, he gave me a pretty new necklace, and a bracelet to match! It was all red and shiny, and England told me it was "genuine" ruby. (I had to go ask him now how to spell that because I didn't know how.) Whatever that means. I guess that means it looked pretty, because it was. Oh, and he also gave me these little soldiers that he made all by himself! It made me a bit sad, though, because now his wrist is broken because of it. But he said he's fine, and he's always right, so I believed him. He even made one of the soldiers a girl for me! I didn't know soldiers could be girls. But when I told him that, he said to me that girls, when they have the right mindset, can be and do anything.
Okay, I have to go now! England is calling me for dinner—he said he's making fish and chips! Yummy! Goodbye, Diary!
Looking back at my very first diary entry all those years ago makes me laugh—what a cute, goofy little kid I was!—but it also, oddly enough, gives me chills. Not the "I've just seen a ghost" kinda chills, but the kind you get when you reminisce about something that once was. And when you realize how bittersweet it was, even though it was just normal life for you back then.
Like, when I think about how I still have those toy soldiers. I did my spring cleaning not too long ago, and had intended to throw them away, thinking what was the use for them now? But something inside of me stopped me from doing so. The memories. You can't just get rid of memories like that, so I kept the set of wooden toy soldiers that had spoken in fake conversations together, attended tea parties where the tea was really just water (except when England had been kind enough, and not too busy, to make some real tea), fought imaginary battles.
Anyway, yeah, I remember that day really clearly. Vividly. Fun fact: us nations never forget. We're like elephants. Even things that happened to us as children still stick like glue. The good—and the bad.
I'd just been a little girl—maybe nine or ten in human years. When England was away, I was taken care of by servants, maids; rotund old men who were friendly and had wrinkles in their smiles, thin ladies in long dresses, their hair pulled into buns. They were all nice, but I never stopped missing England.
This particular day was the day I knew he was coming back, though. I'd brushed my teeth all nice and clean so perhaps he'd compliment me on my glowing smile; I'd put on my long white and red dress, with my fanciest white lacy socks and black shoes on my feet; I'd even let one of the maids brush my hair all pretty, and I hadn't fought her like I normally did. (How proud England would be when he heard that!)
Anyway, I knew he was home before he even walked through the door. I could tell. I could hear the pitter-patter of his footsteps, which were, at that point, all-too-familiar to me. When he poked his blond head in, and I saw his rumpled-up suit, saw his bright green eyes sparkle, I squealed. I leaped up instantly to run to him, but...I saw something that stopped me immediately, and made me gasp. England's arm was in a sling!
"England," I asked breathlessly, "what happened to your arm?"
Yet he continued to smile. Very nonchalantly he glanced down at his sling. "Oh," he said, his voice just as dismissive, "that's nothing much. I accidentally injured myself while making something very special for you." He repeated, "Nothing much."
Being the little girl I was, I automatically excepted England's reasoning, and leaped into his arms, wrapping him in perhaps one of the biggest bear hugs I'd ever given him, if you can believe that! I smiled up at him with perfectly white teeth.
To my surprise, that wasn't the first thing he complimented me on, though. He instead touched my head delicately and said, "Your hair looks so pretty, America—did you do it yourself?"
I touched my short, wavy, caramel hair and smiled again, though internally a little piece of my heart shattered just a bit—would he have been prouder of me if I'd done it myself? Oh, I should have done it myself! "No," I answered, "Miss Marianne did it for me."
"That's lovely," England said, which made my heart lift again. "She did a beautiful job."
I giggled, covering my mouth slightly with my hand. "Tell her that!" I back-chatted in my sassy little-girl way, mimicking him, who tended to say that often. (Like when we went to the store together, and the clerk would hand England a pack of chocolates, who'd hand them to me, and I'd tell England, "Thank you!" And he'd say, "Tell the clerk that, America!")
England giggled back. "I will." Soon, he was reaching in his back pocket and pulling out something—surely a present for me, as he always gave me little gifts from his pockets.
When I saw exactly what it was, I let out a gasp. Two beautiful red gems, which were indeed, in retrospect, genuine rubies in the forms of a necklace and a bracelet, were placed into my palms.
"Wow," I breathed, "thank you so much, England!"
"No problem, love," he replied as always.
I began to run up the stairs to go to my room, so I could put my new prizes in my little white jewelry box with the golden knobs, but England stopped me. "Hold on, dear! I still need to give you your other present—the one I made myself!"
I stopped, and slowly walked back down the stairs, my short pale fingers grazing the railing. I watched England as he opened the door back up just slightly, and picked up something from off the ground. When I looked at what he was holding, I saw little...oh, those must be dolls! Ones to add to my collection! Oh, maybe he even remembered that Ms. Billingsworth, my main female doll, needed a new husband! (Since I'd broken Mr. Billingsworth.)
But instead, he promptly labeled the toys in his hands as, "Soldiers!" Skeptically, a bit disappointedly, but still gratefully (because I knew he sacrificed his arm to make me this set, for crying out loud), I glanced down and studied them. After a while, my eyes did eventually light up as I continued to look at the dolls—er, solders—one by one.
I realized then, to my complete amusement, that each one of them had a different facial expression painted on. "Wow," I said, "you made all of 'em have different faces!" I picked one up, and held its wooden body tightly in my palm, twisting and turning it to check it out more closely.
I heard England make a contented humming sound; I looked at my new toys some more until one in particular caught my eye: a soldier with long blonde hair and dark curling lashes. The soldier, who I could tell obviously was female, wore the same painted-on clothing as the men.
I gasped at this sight. "England!" I half-scolded. "You made one of 'em a girl!"
He bent down slightly to see what I was talking about—but he just brushed off my comment. "Yes, I did," he stated matter-of-factly. "You say that as if it's a problem, love." His tone here sounded hushed, a bit worried.
"Yes, that's a problem!" I insisted. "Soldiers can't be girls!"
"They can't?"
I shook my head vigorously.
England made a tsk-tsk sound with his mouth, and when I looked up at his face I saw his large dark brows furrowed, his expressive green eyes swirling with...some type of emotion. If I had to guess today what emotion that was, I'd say disappointment, probably at my naivety. He took the female soldier from my hands. "Why...sure they can," he said finally. He paused for a brief moment. "Girls can do anything they want—that is, if they have the right mindset."
"But...fighting?!" I screeched, crinkling my nose in distaste, trying to imagine one of the maids in my house (the only women I really knew at the time) fighting on the battlefield. I just couldn't. "That's for boys!"
"Fighting for what you believe in isn't gender-specific, love."
Such a bold, earthy statement that would've spoken real volumes to me if my young self had been just a bit older.
Instead, I grabbed the girl soldier back and piled it in with the other ones. "Well...okay," I finally agreed. Without even thinking, I gave him a peck on the cheek—for the first time since I was very little. "Thank you, England. I love my gifts."
His eyes grew wide for just an instant; perhaps he was surprised that I had kissed him. But then he smiled. "No problem, dearie," he chirped as he ruffled my curls.
I grinned back, let out a happy huff, and began to head up the stairs to my room, until England stopped me once more. "Wait!"
As soon as I came down the stairs, really huffing and puffing out of annoyance now (couldn't he just let me get to my dang room already?!), he handed me...a silver book. A silver book with a golden lock, as well as a golden key. "It's your diary," he told me. "It's for you to write stuff in—like things that happened throughout the day. The key is so all your little secrets stay hidden inside." He chuckled.
Briefly he showed me how to work the lock, and the key, and then I was (finally!) allowed to go up to my room.
Once there, I put all the gifts I got where they belonged—the matching bracelet and necklace set in my jewelry box, the soldiers in my toy bin. Having nothing better to do, I decided that just for the heck of it, I'd write in that silver book England gave me. I tossed myself onto my bed—not worrying now about dirtying my clothing, nor undoing my curls—and used my special pen to begin writing my first diary entry, dated the 5th of August, 1654 (the proper way England had previously taught me how), not having any cares in the world besides typical, whimsical little girl ones. What a time that was.
A/N: I hope I did Nyo!America's character justice, lol. I was trying to bring a little of her personality out through her narration, and I hope I did that okay.
Comments, favorites, and follows are always appreciated!
Oh yeah, and forgive me if the date in Nyo!America's diary is off, considering the time period. It was just a rough estimate (I'm not a history genius) :P If it's seriously incorrect though let me know!