By October 19th, 1781, England had watched his beloved American's soldiers fall to the ground all dead. He stared down at a semi-familiar sight. It was pouring in the muddy battle field. Alfred stood with his musket across from his brother. Alfred had no army, Cornwallis had beaten them all. They lay motionless, sinking into the murky water.
Past England had his gun at the ready and at least 50 soldiers behind him in the same condition. Future England dressed as one of them in the crowd to secure that his plan followed through.
"ENGLAND! ALL I WANT IS MY FREEDOM! YOU HAVE KILLED MY SOLDIERS! MY PEOPLE! WAS IT TRULY WORTH IT?! WHAT MORE COULD YOU POSSIBLY DO?!"
"Alfred, Alfred, Alfred….tisk tisk tisk. You are nothing more than a colony. You will never be more than that to the world. You couldn't have just behaved? You just had to be the rebel didn't you…well love, my child, rebel, little brother…..savage…."
America bared his teeth at the last word. He hated when England used to call his people by that name. He had had enough! He charged England and with a fast push, launched the Brit's musket to the air, away from reach. England looked stricken. His own brother had a gun up to his chest. Tears spiraled down his cheeks as he fell to one knee, his face buried in his left hand.
"…when I found you in that field so many years ago, you promised me your loyalty for life. And its only necessary to account that you were only a child, a naïve, foolish child." In one quick movement, England sliced across America's chest with a hidden dagger he had been instructed to secure around his ankle.
Time slowed down as the injury occurred. Tears flew to join the rain drops; blood coursed into the humid air as the American went down on his back into the mud. Time seemed to pick up when England stood above him and wiped his crocodile tears. He gave him his unamused stare as he raised a pistol to the other's pained face.
"Then again…so was I." The pistol fired, its bullet grazing Alfred's ear as it formed a crater in the dirt. "And next time, I won't miss." He turned his back and instructed a few soldiers to carry him to the infirmary.
That night, England wrote a letter to his past self and slipped it into his nightstand drawer.
"Now that you have won this war, I must take my leave.
I do wish that you could understand why I must go but since I do not plan to meet with you again
I shall give you some advice that I urge you to follow.
Don't let your guard down, America will try again eventually, his spirit is strong.
Keep him with you at all times, chain him as your pet and keep the restrictions.
Finally, never hesitate when it comes to punishment.
Follow these 3 rules and you will remain the great empire that you are today."
With those last written words, England swiped his wand through the air and repeated the chant to have him arrive in his house.