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It was the year of 1812, and England was crying as he looked down at the tiny clothes he held in his hands, getting damp with his tears. They were the clothes that America used to wear when he was little. It had been over twenty years since that day, but the wound on his heart stung like it happened only yesterday. He could hear the words America had said repeatedly echo in his mind.
"England, you used to be so great. I'm not a kid anymore, and I'm not your little brother!"
Those words struck at England's heart without mercy each time he heard them, but it was as if he was at a concert from hell. His mind was a pianist who kept playing the same song without ever stopping and those words, those words that America had said to him all those years ago, they were the song. There was a door that trapped him inside of his own mind. He tried to open that door and leave the past behind him, but no matter how hard he pulled the handle of the door, it would not budge. The door out of the painful past was like a decoration painted onto the walls of his mind. England did not know if he would ever be able to open that door. Could he ever escape?
He already knew the answer. There was no escape. It was too late for that. Those words had been spoken. The shot heard around the world had been fired. The war had been fought. The lives of many brave men had been lost, the light in their eyes blown out like a candle, never to be lit again. Even with all the magic in the world, the past can never be changed. He, like Shakespeare's Macbeth, had cleaned his hands of the blood of the men who had fought in that war, but in the end you never can wash the blood from your hands. The more he thought about it; the more it hurt, yet the more it hurt; the more he thought about it. It was an endless cycle of pain, confusion, spite, anger, and most of all, betrayal. Pure betrayal.
England heard a soft voice outside of America's old room. For a moment, he thought that it belonged to America, the little brother he lost. "What is it you want, America?" England asked the boy, before realizing his mistake. The voice did not belong to America. It belonged to Canada, America's quieter brother. "I'm sorry, Canada." England said apologetically.
Canada frowned, he was very worried. "England, I'm scared. You called me my brother's name. Speaking of my brother, America is invading my land. Why would my brother do that? He was weak like me once. I've fought him off before, but now he is stronger. Does he think he can march all over my land as if I wasn't even there. Also, India has been really upset lately. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he ignored me. He acted like I didn't exist." the quiet nation said in a soft voice.
England felt sorry for Canada. As America grew stronger and the world started to pay attention to him, Canada grew less noticeable and faded into the background as people ignored him in favor of his brother. Canada looked so much like his brother, and sometimes England wished that he actually was, so that the pain of America leaving him would go away.
England knew that he could not change the past, but he could keep it from repeating. He would talk to India, help him through his problems. He would be there for him like he should have been there for America. He would speak with America, let him know that couldn't take Canada away from him, too. Losing the thing closest to America would be too much for him to bear. If only England had known intervening with America would only lead to more bloodshed in the war of 1812. He had stopped America from taking Canada away from him, but at what cost? His wounded heart from the American Revolution didn't heal, it got even bigger.
He did get India to confide in him, however. The colony was worried about his little sister Ceylon, also named Sri Lanka, whose lands were becoming overrun by the Dutch. They had taken over everywhere except for her vital regions. She had gone from being an entire island to being a single city. She was almost a Dutch colony. India was terrified by the idea of his beloved sister becoming another Netherlands, and begged England to help her.
England knew that he had two help the little island. He would save her from the Netherlands, or worse France, who happened to be taking over land occupied by the Netherlands at the time. He would raise her like he had raised America, but this time, he would not make the same mistakes. Maybe then, he might be able to open the door trapping him in his own mind. After all, he may not be able to change the past, but he could keep it from repeating itself.