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Literature Text
Plot: What drove America to want his freedom from England? They were brothers, weren't they? So what happened to drive them apart?
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
BOSTON TEA PARTY [1773]
He watched as the boxes sank beneath the waves. Bubbles of white and teal fizzled from below the surface, intermingling with the aromic leaves.
His men whooped and clapped their hands together under the light of the moon. Colorful feathers adorned their hair; war paint smudged under their eyes. Dressed as Natives, they channeled their anger into their actions.
America lifted his head to the moon. Its glow felt strangely warm, like a parent smiling at him proudly.
He exhaled through his nose.
Only a matter of time before England found out…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In the end, it really didn't take that long. The message had to cross the sea, which takes a long time naturally, but to America it went by too quickly. But he was prepared, standing with his back to the door as the furious footsteps pounded closer and closer to his study. He kept his chin held high, eyes on the North star and the flag hanging at the flagpole outside his house.
The toy soldiers England had made for him decades ago stood at attention on his desk, next to the crumpled letters and the half-empty cup of tea; the remnants of his heinous crime six weeks earlier.
Thmp. Thmp. Thmp. BANG!
"America!"
And there he was. Red in the face, furious. He was exactly as he remembered; always dressed in some expensive suit, hair combed back neatly, tie perfectly straight. And yet there was something there that never was before. England was exactly the same, yet he wasn't at the same time.
He wasn't looking at America like an older brother scolding his little brother. He was looking at him as if he were a field hand who'd cost his boss an entire week's profit by slacking off.
Keeping his head held high, America turned and faced him. He would not show England the sorrow, the mistrust, the betrayal.
England jumped right into the questions. "Why the bloody hell did you dump all that tea in the harbor?!"
America narrowed his eyes. "Why? Are you going to charge me for that, too?"
England looked momentarily subdued by the retort; his brow crinkled, and he blinked in confusion. His anger subsided, and that allowed America to proceed with his rebuttal. "With all these taxes being placed, who knows what's next?" He wanted to aim lower, strike in a place it would hurt. "Maybe I'll toss all that liquor in the harbor, too…"
The anger returned almost immediately. "What on earth are you going on about?"
"Oh, you know very well what I'm going on about, England!" He spat the name like a curse; it left a foul taste in his mouth. "You've turned me into some…some pawn!"
England's green eyes flashed like poison. "Excuse me?"
"I thought I was your brother!" America's voice was thick with dark emotion, but his face betrayed him, remaining blank even as his loud voice grew louder. "You treated me like I was special, like I was important. You treated me like I was a person!"
Suddenly his eyes were wild, dangerously close to madness. The blank sheet that was his face morphed into something so filled with distraught terror and ashamed sorrow that England took a staggering step back.
America shouted, "Now I'm an object?!"
England turned his gaze away, down to the floor. If America didn't know him as well as he did, he would've thought that England looked guilty.
He said, quickly, "Don't you da—"
"Don't turn this back on me, England!" His voice rose to a loud bellow he was certain the other countries could hear.
England flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but didn't look back at him.
America shouted, irate, "You are no brother! You're a TYRANT!"
That snapped England out of his stunned stupor. He whirled back on America with an expression so fierce he half-feared it would burn a hole right through him. Still, he stood with his eyes blazing, his expression pained and enraged and betrayed. England shouted, "HOW DARE YOU?"
"I thought I was your brother!" America bellowed. "What am I?!" His voice went soft now, broken like a child's. "You visited me every day, you helped me when I was hurt…you saved me from France!" Then his voice rose again and he said, "Does that mean nothing to you?!"
England's expression was unreadable. Was he angry? Probably. Did he look it? Yes. But there was something else hidden there America never though he'd see: hatred. In that moment, England hated him more than any other. Hated the man he had once called his brother. It was a cruel fact…but inevitable.
America, however, wasn't about to surrender this fight. He opened his mouth and said, "I thought I was—"
England cut him off. "YOU ARE MY COLONY!" His voice hit levels of anger America had never seen; it made him take a step back, made his blood run cold. "YOU WILL DO AS I TELL YOU!"
There was a moment of silence between them. America's eyes were so wide his expression would've been funny in any other situation. But there was no humor in England's expression now; only hate. True hate, unlike any America had ever seen. He hadn't even seen that look when England talked about France, when he spoke about the wars and his enemies. This was a whole new look.
And it was aimed at him.
America lowered his head with a thick shudder. He swallowed the pain as best he could, but some of it leaked out. His eyelashes were wet. His lips trembled. Even so, he tried to smile. That would make it all so clear.
"Heh…" The laugh felt bitter, forced; it was. "That's funny…"
England's expression softened from hatred to simply anger. The confusion helped.
"I thought I was your little brother," America whispered. Then he lifted his head and stared at England. His eyes were alive with tears, his expression broken. This was new, too. America had never looked like this, not even when his favorite pet rabbit had died. Then he closed his eyes and shouted—"Not your SERVANT!"—spitting the final word like a curse, and he threw his hand out. It smashed into the cup of tea on his desk, sending it to the floor. The porcelain shattered, sent liquid over the carpet; America didn't stay to pick it up. He shoved by England and stormed out the door, slamming it shut with a deafening BANG.
And then England was all alone.
The silence that followed America's departure was even louder than the door banging had been, even more so than his shouts. His heart felt strangely hollow…but what could he do? Run after him? Tell him he was sorry? Like America would believe him. Like he would even listen.
So he just lowered his head and let his own tears slid down his cheeks.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 1775
Dear England,
You want to treat me like a servant? Fine. If I'm no longer your little brother, then you won't mind if I just leave.
Let's start a revolution…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
BOSTON TEA PARTY [1773]
He watched as the boxes sank beneath the waves. Bubbles of white and teal fizzled from below the surface, intermingling with the aromic leaves.
His men whooped and clapped their hands together under the light of the moon. Colorful feathers adorned their hair; war paint smudged under their eyes. Dressed as Natives, they channeled their anger into their actions.
America lifted his head to the moon. Its glow felt strangely warm, like a parent smiling at him proudly.
He exhaled through his nose.
Only a matter of time before England found out…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In the end, it really didn't take that long. The message had to cross the sea, which takes a long time naturally, but to America it went by too quickly. But he was prepared, standing with his back to the door as the furious footsteps pounded closer and closer to his study. He kept his chin held high, eyes on the North star and the flag hanging at the flagpole outside his house.
The toy soldiers England had made for him decades ago stood at attention on his desk, next to the crumpled letters and the half-empty cup of tea; the remnants of his heinous crime six weeks earlier.
Thmp. Thmp. Thmp. BANG!
"America!"
And there he was. Red in the face, furious. He was exactly as he remembered; always dressed in some expensive suit, hair combed back neatly, tie perfectly straight. And yet there was something there that never was before. England was exactly the same, yet he wasn't at the same time.
He wasn't looking at America like an older brother scolding his little brother. He was looking at him as if he were a field hand who'd cost his boss an entire week's profit by slacking off.
Keeping his head held high, America turned and faced him. He would not show England the sorrow, the mistrust, the betrayal.
England jumped right into the questions. "Why the bloody hell did you dump all that tea in the harbor?!"
America narrowed his eyes. "Why? Are you going to charge me for that, too?"
England looked momentarily subdued by the retort; his brow crinkled, and he blinked in confusion. His anger subsided, and that allowed America to proceed with his rebuttal. "With all these taxes being placed, who knows what's next?" He wanted to aim lower, strike in a place it would hurt. "Maybe I'll toss all that liquor in the harbor, too…"
The anger returned almost immediately. "What on earth are you going on about?"
"Oh, you know very well what I'm going on about, England!" He spat the name like a curse; it left a foul taste in his mouth. "You've turned me into some…some pawn!"
England's green eyes flashed like poison. "Excuse me?"
"I thought I was your brother!" America's voice was thick with dark emotion, but his face betrayed him, remaining blank even as his loud voice grew louder. "You treated me like I was special, like I was important. You treated me like I was a person!"
Suddenly his eyes were wild, dangerously close to madness. The blank sheet that was his face morphed into something so filled with distraught terror and ashamed sorrow that England took a staggering step back.
America shouted, "Now I'm an object?!"
England turned his gaze away, down to the floor. If America didn't know him as well as he did, he would've thought that England looked guilty.
He said, quickly, "Don't you da—"
"Don't turn this back on me, England!" His voice rose to a loud bellow he was certain the other countries could hear.
England flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but didn't look back at him.
America shouted, irate, "You are no brother! You're a TYRANT!"
That snapped England out of his stunned stupor. He whirled back on America with an expression so fierce he half-feared it would burn a hole right through him. Still, he stood with his eyes blazing, his expression pained and enraged and betrayed. England shouted, "HOW DARE YOU?"
"I thought I was your brother!" America bellowed. "What am I?!" His voice went soft now, broken like a child's. "You visited me every day, you helped me when I was hurt…you saved me from France!" Then his voice rose again and he said, "Does that mean nothing to you?!"
England's expression was unreadable. Was he angry? Probably. Did he look it? Yes. But there was something else hidden there America never though he'd see: hatred. In that moment, England hated him more than any other. Hated the man he had once called his brother. It was a cruel fact…but inevitable.
America, however, wasn't about to surrender this fight. He opened his mouth and said, "I thought I was—"
England cut him off. "YOU ARE MY COLONY!" His voice hit levels of anger America had never seen; it made him take a step back, made his blood run cold. "YOU WILL DO AS I TELL YOU!"
There was a moment of silence between them. America's eyes were so wide his expression would've been funny in any other situation. But there was no humor in England's expression now; only hate. True hate, unlike any America had ever seen. He hadn't even seen that look when England talked about France, when he spoke about the wars and his enemies. This was a whole new look.
And it was aimed at him.
America lowered his head with a thick shudder. He swallowed the pain as best he could, but some of it leaked out. His eyelashes were wet. His lips trembled. Even so, he tried to smile. That would make it all so clear.
"Heh…" The laugh felt bitter, forced; it was. "That's funny…"
England's expression softened from hatred to simply anger. The confusion helped.
"I thought I was your little brother," America whispered. Then he lifted his head and stared at England. His eyes were alive with tears, his expression broken. This was new, too. America had never looked like this, not even when his favorite pet rabbit had died. Then he closed his eyes and shouted—"Not your SERVANT!"—spitting the final word like a curse, and he threw his hand out. It smashed into the cup of tea on his desk, sending it to the floor. The porcelain shattered, sent liquid over the carpet; America didn't stay to pick it up. He shoved by England and stormed out the door, slamming it shut with a deafening BANG.
And then England was all alone.
The silence that followed America's departure was even louder than the door banging had been, even more so than his shouts. His heart felt strangely hollow…but what could he do? Run after him? Tell him he was sorry? Like America would believe him. Like he would even listen.
So he just lowered his head and let his own tears slid down his cheeks.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 1775
Dear England,
You want to treat me like a servant? Fine. If I'm no longer your little brother, then you won't mind if I just leave.
Let's start a revolution…
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This was a short story that I wrote for my little sister. She said she wanted me to write her a story about the American Revolution and what led up to it. She said she wanted me to write her a story where America and England had a fight, and that was what finally convinced America that he needed to be free.
She had me write it so she could bring it to school and read for class when they were studying the American Revolution.
Her teacher proof-read it first, but then gave it back to her and said it wasn't "accurate" or some nonsense like that. He said that America and England should be personified as girls and that they had a mother-daughter relationship.
I laughed my ass off.
He obviously doesn't know Hetalia very well, and she even told him it was a fan fiction from Hetalia and explained that so he could understand. Clearly he's not a very good listener if he said some shit like that.
Anyway, I ignored him and chose to post it on deviantart where my readers aren't going to scream at me for not making it accurate. What the hell wasn't accurate? I think it was the fact that America and England aren't "people" but two countries. Wow, did we not explain the concept of fan fiction and personification well enough for him?
I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way. I did make the colorful preview pic, though, which was a lot of fun
Thank you to all of my readers who have stuck by me through thick and thin.
Soon I hope to update How to Burn a Witch (a HTTYD fic), and my YA L4D AU idea, and my Hetalia Illusion fic. I have the preface up and a sample of the first chapter.
Thank you all!
She had me write it so she could bring it to school and read for class when they were studying the American Revolution.
Her teacher proof-read it first, but then gave it back to her and said it wasn't "accurate" or some nonsense like that. He said that America and England should be personified as girls and that they had a mother-daughter relationship.
I laughed my ass off.
He obviously doesn't know Hetalia very well, and she even told him it was a fan fiction from Hetalia and explained that so he could understand. Clearly he's not a very good listener if he said some shit like that.
Anyway, I ignored him and chose to post it on deviantart where my readers aren't going to scream at me for not making it accurate. What the hell wasn't accurate? I think it was the fact that America and England aren't "people" but two countries. Wow, did we not explain the concept of fan fiction and personification well enough for him?
I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way. I did make the colorful preview pic, though, which was a lot of fun
Thank you to all of my readers who have stuck by me through thick and thin.
Soon I hope to update How to Burn a Witch (a HTTYD fic), and my YA L4D AU idea, and my Hetalia Illusion fic. I have the preface up and a sample of the first chapter.
Thank you all!
© 2012 - 2024 animehime20
Comments6
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I love this and the buildup, though there are a few errors. One of them is that the "I thought I was your brother" is way too repetitive, especially for England to say "YOU'RE MY COLONY!" in response. England is an arrogant douchbag, but he's not selfish per se and he does favor America over his other brothers, including Australia. If America said the same phrase three times, England would've said "I am your brother" in response, because he does love America as his little brother. He might not put him first, but he does try. He'd also be talking to America about the situation and only start becoming tyrant-like when the situation goes out of control. Maybe if America did say "I thought you were my brother" one time, then maybe England could say America's words as a sign of rebellion, but if America kept saying "I thought I was your brother" three times, England's not going to take it as rebellion. He knows America enough to know when he feels betrayed or not.
Another thing is that it would also be nice if the story would've brought out the other taxes, because America isn't going to snap over one tea tax. He's going to bring up a series of acts and taxes. He's going to give out a story to support his argument. This is also what the sons of liberty did. I don't think America brought out the Boston Massacre either, which I would think would be very important in his argument. Without proof of the argument, besides taxes, it makes America seem like a rebellious little brat, instead of someone with a real actual problem.
Other than those, it was a good one shot.