Author's Note: One more chapter left to go after this!

Mr. Arthur Kirkland,

I'm writing you this letter in regards to the great atrocities you've committed over the course of the past two (and a quarter) centuries. No one seems to be up to the task of listing their grievances, so I've taken it upon myself to handle the matter.

Now, where do I begin?

I suppose it all started when you encountered me in the fields of the New World. It was the only world I had ever known, until some strange men claiming to be from a land across the sea stumbled upon my shores with gold, silver, gunpowder, and disease.

Well, I didn't know they were my shores just yet, but now I'm getting ahead of myself.

You kept your distance for a while, blinded by astonishment as your appetite for some old-fashioned imperialism slithered its way into your mind. Even then, I don't think you truly understood what you were getting into—neither of us did.

We did, however, know that Francis was creepy, and not in a cryptic and charismatic kind of way. I certainly sensed it at once, and furthermore, I'm relieved he set his sights on Matthew instead of me.

Then, you mustered the resolve to confront me. You were dressed in that funny pirate hat of yours—laden with a nest of feathers and jewels. I ended up loving that hat, mostly because it was a sign of security and protection. No one could question your authority when you were dressed like that; no one except me, of course.

And suddenly, BAM, you had a kid on your hands. Turns out I was quite the accident, huh? Don't worry, I'm not offended by your rash decision-making.

We both weren't sure how or why it happened. Maybe some kind of fate brought us together in the plains, but I knew you were part of my kind, and the discovery filled me with curiosity. I wanted to know who I was, and I knew you'd be able to teach me. I didn't know a single thing about colonialism or what it entailed, but you seemed like a chill dude, and I'd been craving some company and a family like the Native American tribes had created.

And so, we were stuck together. The first few years were rough, seeing as I was part of your first collection of colonies. You made a lot of rookie mistakes, mind you. I never wanted to sleep, became a picky eater, hated baths, got into trouble, broke your antiques, climbed trees, cried at the smallest scrape, got sick often because many of the first colonists died of sickness or famine, didn't practice my manners, couldn't be lady-like, and always managed to pull at those rusty heartstrings of yours.

Despite all that, you still tucked me into bed at night with a smile, brushed away the tears in my eyes, read me stories, kissed my forehead when I was fussy, and taught me what it was like to love someone in the purest and simplest form.

I was the very definition of "Daddy's little girl", except you couldn't be my father, and I couldn't be your child. We broke the most important rule of imperialism—we grew attached. All nations know it's a terrible blunder to form close relationships with others, but we couldn't help it. You cared for me too much, and we couldn't keep it up much longer.

Inevitably, I grew older. I became a lanky teenager with a serious bout of wanderlust. The world still seemed so new and fascinating to me, and I wanted to be a part of it. I was meant to fulfill my role as a nation, and nothing could've restricted that destiny.

We fought, we shouted, we threw your antiques at the wall, we cried, and I wounded you. I'm sorry for that.

But I don't regret it. I wish it could've been easier on us, and maybe there was a better way to handle the situation at the time, but I don't regret what I did for a single second. I think it's important you know that, and it's not because I don't care about the pain you went through (personally if not politically)—I don't regret it because it's something I had to do, and we both knew it was coming.

Besides, the problem was greater than us. We were just pawns, and it was our governments that were really at odds with one another. Nonetheless, we allowed that to consume us—we gave up our individual feelings because we forgot what it was like to be human.

Oh, and let's not forget how Francis turned out to be a great ally for me during the Revolution. Who woulda guessed it, huh? Remember how coppery and golden the Statue of Liberty was when he first gifted it to me? I'll never forget how it used to glow in the sunlight. It was truly a sight to see.

I still think he's kinda weird, though.

Anyway, our relations were shaky after that, and understandably so. Our trust for one another frayed, and we constantly kept an eye on each other to see who would make the next move. Thinking back on it now makes me roll my eyes and grin. Back then, Anglo-American wars were always a threat, but can you imagine us having those kinds of hostilities today? It'd be unthinkable, especially after our steady alliance.

Hah, that actually gives me a pretty good idea…

Our lives went on, we had a few skirmishes like the War of 1812, but we called it quits after that, for the most part. Our trade was restored, we exchanged diplomats, resumed meetings without killing each other, and the scars of the past grew less visible. You invented the spinning jenny, so I invented the swivel chair.

Beat that, sir.

And then, it was my turn for some imperialism—I think I got that from you. Even now, I find myself doing things that make me cringe because they seem so much like the things you used to do—strutting around like you owned the world.

I'll admit, it's an addictive feeling, and you can definitely relate.

It took the two World Wars to solidify things for us. We finally understood that either we swim together or we sink together because we were too similar to ignore one another. We had common goals, a common language, a somewhat common culture, etc.

Man, I can still taste the relief we felt on V-E Day. You cried, Mattie cried, Francis bawled his eyes out…

And I may have shed a tear or two as well.

You never realize how beautiful peace is and how much you've underestimated it until you've seen the world at its ugliest—just like we never appreciated each other's company until we thought it'd be gone forever.

We were so happy to be alive. Through all of the darkness and death, we made it to brighter days, and we grew drunk on the little blessings.

It's a shame we couldn't stay in that state.

Then came the Cold War and the birth of a new age. Russia went a little trigger-crazy and then calmed himself, but it looks like he's getting a bit dangerous and out of hand once more. Lemme know if he gets too scary for comfort. I'm on it.

Commercialism took over, another wave of industrialism, and we became more globalized than ever before—connected but still detached. I wonder if that gap can ever be closed.

And that brings me here, to this moment, where I'm writing this letter even though it's the twenty-first century, and I could easily send you an email. I may have lost your attention by now, and you may not read this to the end, though I suspect you will because that's just the type of person you are—always wanting to see things through to their conclusion.

My hand is cramping up and my already flimsy writing capabilities are teetering on the edge of further collapse, so I'll try to wrap this up.

Why am I telling you all of this?

Well, first, so you can get your act together and stop getting so sentimental all of the time, old man. I mean, look at the monster you've raised, right? Looks like you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon either.

And secondly, because I wanted you to know that I understand. I finally understand…

My birthday's coming up soon, and I'll extend you an invitation to the party like I always do, but you won't come. You and I can both agree on that, at least.

I know this is the way things have to be, and it's okay that you won't be there—that you can't be there. Sometimes history creates schisms that can't be crossed.

You'll be overcome with sickness as usual, so stay in bed and ride out the worst of it. You'll tell me it's because of the Revolution, which is only partially true. I think it's safe to assume that most of your symptoms are a personal ailment as opposed to a national ailment.

You care too much sometimes.

I'll save you a piece of cake for when you come to visit the following week. A word of warning though—Francis is preparing the cake this year, and it'll be strawberry (and most likely delicious).

But I know you may not want to eat it anyway, since it'll have been made by his hands.

If that's the case, you can take it home with you and keep it in the fridge for a week just to retain the symbolism of it all. After that, feed it to a neighbor's dog or something. It doesn't really matter.

And one last thing, take care of yourself, all right? You know I worry.

But don't you start harping about it to the others.

It's a secret I think we'd both prefer to keep solely between us.

Best,

-Ms. Amelia F. Jones

"How can you blame me for this?"

"You were the one who scared her! Maple, come down, honey."

"Maybe she just hates you because you named her Maple."

"I'm not the one she hates."

America put a hand on her hip and leaned against the fence surrounding Matthew's house with a grumble. "I can call the fire department to get her down."

"No, you've done enough already!"

"This isn't my fault!"

"You scared her!" Canada declared once more, throwing his arms up in the air as he tried to formulate a plan to get his new kitten out of the tree in the backyard. He'd only received her a few days ago, and she was already traumatized. "You came barging through the door unannounced and she was startled. She's still getting used to her new surroundings. Isn't that right, Maple?"

"Mrreooow."

"It's okay now. I yelled at America for being rude."

"I can't believe this," America muttered, looking the tree up and down critically. "I can climb up and get her myself. It's not that high up."

"Oh, no, you won't! Stay away from my cat!"

"Relax, bro," she reassured, patting her twin's back before digging her shoes into the trunk of the tree. She found her way up without much of a hitch and directed a triumphant glare at Canada when the kitten was within an arm's reach. "Who's a good kitty? Not you, that's for sure."

She placed her hand around the scruff of the animal's neck and hoisted it up from one of the tree's branches like fresh prey. "Gotcha!"

Maple gave off a squeaky hiss and bristled her fur. "Mreeeeeeeow!"

"Hey, lose the attitude, kitty. I just saved your life."

Quite aggravated, Maple lifted a paw and scratched America's wrist with her claws for good measure, mewling and wailing the entire way down.

"Ouch! Mattie, are you sure you didn't adopt a tiger by accident?"

"You finally got what you deserved," Matthew harrumphed, snatching the orange-blonde kitten and cradling it against his chest as soon as America had reached the base of the tree. "Don't worry. America learned her lesson. She's an evil sister, I know."

America merely rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Gee, you're welcome."

"I'm not going to thank you after the madness you caused."

"You didn't tell me you had a small creature in the house!"

"Well, you didn't tell me you were coming over!" Canada retorted, stroking the kitten's head fondly. "Besides, I didn't think you'd care to know."

America wrinkled her nose and rubbed at the stinging scratch on her wrist. "Of course I care. I care about everything you're going through, no matter how boring and mundane it is. I'm your sister, and you're supposed to tell me these kinds of things."

"I was going to tell you, but you didn't give me the chance to do it," Canada argued with a little sigh as Maple closed her eyes and settled down for a nap in his arms. "Come on, I'll get you a bandage for that scratch and we can have lunch."

"No hard feelings?"

They stared each other down for a full minute before Canada conceded. "Yeah, yeah… Whatever. Just apologize to Maple and we'll forget this ever happened."

America raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. "I think you're getting a little too lovey-dovey with the critter, Matt. Please don't tell me you've decided to dedicate your life to cats."

"Oh, I've been thinking about it, and I'm not being too affectionate—it's called being a good owner."

They entered the house and left the chill of the outside behind them. Canada deposited the sleepy kitten on its bed in the living room and joined America in the kitchen with a bottle of disinfectant at hand. He poured a good amount of the liquid onto a paper towel and pressed it against the cut for a few seconds.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Stop whining."

"It hurts."

"That means it's working."

America grimaced but held still, satisfied when Canada finally finished with the ministrations. He stuck a bandage on the area and scowled at his sister for getting them into such a mess.

"You really shouldn't have a cat in the first place," America chided with a hint of sympathy in her tone. "You know that."

"No, I don't see why I shouldn't have a pet. Where's the harm in that?"

America frowned and ran her fingers over the clean bandage. He was going to make her say it. "You'll get attached and then she'll pass away. Cats only live around fourteen years, and for us, that's no time at all. You'll blink and she'll be gone."

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about," Canada snapped in response, making them some sandwiches. "I can deal with death—I know it's bound to happen. It's fine."

She pursed her lips and locked her gaze with her brother's, noticing the gleaming sadness twinkling back at her. "You were lonely, weren't you? Sitting in this house all the time without any company… I can sympathize because I've gone through it too. I never got myself a pet to deal with it, but I know how much it sucks to sit around, waiting for the times to change."

Canada lowered his head and busied himself with slicing some tomatoes. They were treading over thin ice. "I know it was stupid of me… I just wanted to be needed, you know?"

America nodded and hunched her shoulders. They were too human for their own good sometimes. "I know. Believe me, I know."

"And you're probably right. The cat isn't going to solve anything."

"She'll be great company, but I'm worried you'll get hurt in the end," she explained, trying to make it clear that the problem was larger than the pet. "Next time you're craving some companionship, you can call me, and we'll hang out. My door's always open for you."

Canada curled his fingers into fists and sighed. "You're busy with nation stuff though, we all are. The last thing you need is my PMS on top of yours."

"Hey, the more PMS the better," America assured with a wink, brushing off the comment. "I'd rather suffer through my mood swings with someone else than be alone. Besides, all men go through PMS like women, they just won't admit it. You boys have your fair share of melodrama."

"Can you be serious?"

She rose from her chair to embrace Canada from behind, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I am being serious! I'm never too busy for my brother, and that's the truth. So, if you ever need a place to chill, you know where to go."

Her twin sucked in an uneasy breath and gave her a long look. "You mean it?"

"Cross my heart."

"Good," he decided, taking her up on the offer. He set their lunches on the table and returned the hug, ignoring the flutter of warmth in his chest. "Thanks. You can be a nice sister when you give it some effort."

"Hah!" America replied with a huff before pulling away. "Since that's out of the way, you're coming to my birthday party right?"

Affronted at the mere suggestion that he'd miss the festivities, Canada furrowed his brows. "Yeah, of course. Always do. Then again, if you bring me a bad present for my birthday, we might have a problem."

"You'll be lucky if you get a present," America teased, ruffling her brother's hair. "I'd better eat lunch and get out of here. I'll keep in touch."

"You'd better."

"And don't tell Maple I said this, but she's pretty darn cute."

Canada's face split open with an uncontainable grin. "I won't. Her ego is big enough already, which is to be expected, considering she's named after you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Check her certificate. Her full name is Maple Amelia Williams."

Something stirred in her stomach as she shot the northern nation a disbelieving smirk. She was sure her cheeks had flushed.

"You're such a dork, Matt."

Nothing quite compared to a relaxing day on the beach in Florida for an impromptu vacation. A soak in the sun, the smell of the ocean, the raucous screech of the seagulls—nothing else could make her feel so at ease and at home.

She dipped her toes in and out of the glistening sand, enjoying the heat working its way into her formerly tense muscles. Why didn't she take a trip down here sooner?

There were children laughing and playing in the water, faces drenched and shining as they splashed about. They'd been anticipating the summer from the very start of the school year and their patience had been rewarded.

And it was a relief, in a way, to see them outside—experiencing the modest beauty of nature.

The young couple a few yards away indulged in some ice cream, whispering sweet nothings and chuckling under the stifling humidity of the shore.

America dreamed about what it was like to be in love like that with a partner.

Such love was always in the air around her, but she'd never be able to capture it for herself.

She laid her head back against her towel and closed her eyes against the fierce sunlight, imagining what the future would be like. There had been days when she'd fantasized becoming an independent nation, and now—now she wasn't sure what to look forward to, but she kept an open mind anyway.

The economy was improving, the war in Iraq had finally come a close, relations with Cuba were restored, and the culture of her nation was transforming yet again. There were still plenty of problems, of course, but there were some positive improvements as well.

Not to mention she felt good. Compared to the first decade of the turn of the century, she was doing fantastically well.

The tiny cynic in her heart had quelled his shouting, and she couldn't hide her exhilaration and curiosity for the days to come. Sitting there, on the crowded beach with her skin tingling from a mild sunburn put these things in perspective.

She could've laid there for an eternity.

However, the sudden crying of a child alerted her groggy senses.

Peeling her eyes open with a wince, America lifted her head up an inch to find the problem. Just a few feet away from where she was settled, a preschool aged boy began to sob loudly, clutching a colorful towel in his hands.

She waited for the boy's parents to arrive, but they never made an appearance.

Worry twisting her gut, America stood up and carefully approached the child, kneeling down in the sand to catch his gaze.

"What's wrong, honey?"

The boy swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and sniveled. "I can't f-find my mom!"

"Okay, you don't have to cry. We'll find her together, short-stuff," America promised before scooping him into her arms and resting him on her hip. "I'm sure if we keep walking along the beach, we'll find your mother."

She led them to the nearest lifeguard and asked the man if anyone had reported a missing child. Thankfully, they had, and the boy's family was waiting impatiently on the boardwalk.

"See? You're going to be all right, sweetheart," she cooed at the frightened child, rubbing reassuring circles into his back. "Let's get you to the boardwalk. How'd you get lost in the first place?"

"I went exploring even though Mommy told me I couldn't."

"I see… That's why you should listen to what your mom tells you—she's almost always right."

"But she yells at me!"

Chuckling, America made an empathetic noise and smoothed the boy's hair out of his face. "That's because she loves you. Think about how worried she is about you right now. She probably thought you were hurt."

"But I'm in trouble now."

"She's going to be so happy to see you that she won't even remember that you disobeyed her. Look, is that her?"

America set the boy on the ground as he started to thrash about. He immediately climbed up the steps to the boardwalk and hugged his mother's legs, sniffling and red faced while the woman drew him near.

"Oh, thank goodness. Don't you ever put me through something like that again! Do you understand?"

"M'sorry!"

The woman sighed heavily as her two older children began to roughhouse behind her. She locked her eyes with America's and gave her a heart-wrenching look of appreciation. Her eyes were moist with tears as she wrapped a protective arm around her son and squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you so much. If there's any way I can repay you—"

"Oh, it wasn't any trouble," America insisted, smiling at the little reunion. "It's a relief to know everything turned out all right."

"But I—"

"It's okay, really."

"Can I at least have your name, in that case?"

America's smile faded slightly as the family directed their eyes at her expectantly. She rarely gave out her human name to others these days, but it'd be okay to make a small exception.

"Amelia. Amelia Jones."

"Well, thank you, Amelia. Hang on a moment… H-Have we met before?"

She'd heard this question hundreds of times; it was posed every time, and it never had a good answer.

She wished she could give the woman the sincerity she sought, but a line had to be drawn. She couldn't know… No one could. Hell, America herself sometimes had trouble convincing herself she wasn't fully a human.

"No, I'm afraid not. I'd better go…"

"Thank you again. You've been our guardian angel."

She pushed her bangs back and let out a little laugh. "That's a very kind thing to say, but I'm no angel."

But the family was already on its way, and the protest fell on deaf ears.

"You couldn't be further from the truth," she glowered, trekking her way back down to the beach. "I'm just doing my job—and poorly at that."

Humans were too quick to judge, she concluded.