When the world comes crashing down {WIP} |COUNTRY HUMANS|

America and Britain

Soft footsteps, muffled by luxurious red rugs, made their way down the halls of the palace. Sharp, shiny, black dress shoes made loud sounds when they hit the cold, hard surface of the wooden floors between the rugs. With each footstep, the man passed a painting of an ancestor in the Royal Family. He reached for his pocket watch inside his black overcoat, connected to the navy-blue suit jacket underneath, speeding up a little when realising the time. He was running a little late, having just heard the news. 2 minutes later he turned into the right wing of the palace, and pushed open the big wooden door to see a woman standing there. She wore a bright red and gold crown, with a blood red dress that reached her ankles, with a hoop loop that accentuated her curves. She wore a tight corset, holding up her bodice tightly so that she had a perfect posture, with daring, cold blue eyes, a white wig and pale skin. She had a stern look on her face, one he knew all too well.

"Mother."

"Britain, what is it that the King tells me of?" He stood silently. He knew exactly what she was speaking of, but he didn't dare say a word. His mother, England, was the scariest of his parents. He had 4, with Ireland and Wales being the kindest. Scotland was alright, he was just scary when angry, as well as the others. They had a good temper on them, and fought until it was won. Even if they lost a great deal. Britain was a mixture of his parents, and tried his hardest to make them proud, which was hard when their opinions differentiated.

"Britain, what is it that the King tells me of?" She repeated, her patience wavering. He stayed silent, waiting for her to speak again. Her silence snapped, and spoke again, yet louder to get the boy's attention.

"Britain, the King tells me that one of your sons has declared independence. Britain, is this true?" She started to tap her foot impatiently, while he pressed his lips tighter against each other. He knew that if he dared to speak his mind, he would be shot down completely.

"Nothing to say?" She sighed, pressing her eyebrows together. "You have failed me as my child and you as a father."

"I haven't failed."

"He declared independence, boy! You were supposed to keep him safe! You failed as a father, and there isn't anything you can do to change my mind but take him back! He owes us his life!"

"He is fine! He doesn't want me anymore! He has voiced his woes, and declared independence! He doesn't owe us anything! Do you not understand that you and His Majesty have driven him to make such a statement! If I were in his position, then I would've made the exact same decision as it is best for my country! I have not failed as a father, you have failed as a grandmother!"

"This is not your decision to make, boy! Now, go and fight to keep him with you! Go, put on your uniform and win the United Colonies back!"

He stormed out of the room, pushing past the guards and heading back to his room. Fuming, he thought of how his son was going to hate him after this. That he would never talk to him again. He opened the door to his room and searched through his things to find his military attire. He threw on the red cloak and started to feel awful. Tears threatened to break free from his eyes, but he held them back, grabbed his weapons and walked through the castle yet again, towards the front garden. He joined his men on the ship, and headed towards America. He felt awful the entire time, like he was going to throw up.

America stood before him, holding his arm. His mother had told him to continue to fight until he won, which he could've easily done, but he refused. He held back, and told his men to surrender. They headed home, as Americans poured out of their homes to celebrate their victory. America stared into the old man's face, expecting to see rage, but only saw a sad, proud smile across his face.

"Son, I-"

"Don't call me son. You aren't my father anymore."

Britain's face dropped. America dropped his gun and his father's face, and started towards his people, and Washington. He was smiling, something that Great Britain could see as he lay on the ground. Only then did he realise that no matter the situation, he had killed his people, and his son would hate him. He screamed, pleading with him to take him back, the tears that he held onto for so long burst free, and America didn't even look towards him. His people helped him up and dragged him away, while America stood with his back facing his father talking to Washington, who was staring at him. Washington understood, he saw the pain in his eyes, something America refused to see. He was dropped onto the ship, his people refused to look at him. It was done. His people were upset. Before, he had mixed feelings about the war as his people felt differently. Now, he knew, they were all disappointed that they lost to one of their own colonies. He knew his mother would be ashamed. As he started to get comfortable for the long journey home, he had the fleeting thought to throw himself off the ship. Let his mother deal with the loss on her own. He had his torso over the edge before he was pulled back to his senses. People relied on him. He just felt so depressed that America was no longer one of those people.