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I only became aware of America's existence (for the second time, I might add), when our sweet child, Alaska, came crying to me; wailing about how America was lost. I really didn't think anything of it. I just presumed Alfred was being a neglectful parent, again, and this was Alaska's way of getting me to punish him for it. However…it was, unfortunately, quite the opposite.
I had made my way to America, to meet up with him; and upon my arrival by plane, I had been met with a very disastrous sight. The United States of America had fallen to ruins. The lands were horribly fissured, lava flowed from the earth in thick, heavy streams, and what buildings were left had crumbled to the ground or into gorges that had never been there before. We were fortunate to even find a landing strip. Nothing, or no one, seemed to exist anymore on this once beautiful land.
As I stepped out of the plane, I could immediately feel the difference in the temperature. America's land may have been falling into lava pits, but it was…surprisingly chilly. I could even see my puffs of breath. I tightened my scarf around my neck and warily made my way to where I suspected the White House used to be. I didn't make it far, though. I stood upon a jutting cliff that rose over the Washington capital and could see through the smoke and ash that the White House no longer stood proudly but had collapsed like one of France's ruined soufflés. My lips tightened into a thin line, as if I were about to cry for this pitiful, now lost, civilization. I could only suspect that Alfred was not there.
The Earth gave a violent shake, and for a moment I felt like the ground was going to crack beneath my feet. I crouched lower to the ground to keep my balance, but it was futile and I rolled backwards down the cliff. I think I might have strained my neck during the tumble, and I rubbed it with a cringe. Something was definitely pulled. I didn't have time to ponder about it as I looked up at the cliff I had just been standing on crumble away into the flowing lava below. I gave a shuddering breath before turning away, only to find the one person I had been seeking.
There, sitting at the base of a still standing, old oak tree, sat Alfred F. Jones. His clothes and flesh were burnt and crusted with blood, and the tree seemed to sympathize with him, because the bark was also burnt to a crisp in some places. The smell made my nose burn. Smoldering leaves fluttered toward the dead grass at Alfred's side. I didn't suspect the tree would last for much longer. I approached Alfred slowly, as if expecting him to look up with a tired smile…but he never did. I felt like my heart had lodged itself into my throat as I knelt by his side and patted his shoulder. He didn't even respond with a flinch.
I'm not sure how many minutes passed before I realized that I was crying; crying for a nation that I had always loathed, despite the fact that he had born my child…and yet, I couldn't help loving him, too. I clenched my teeth as I felt a sob threatening to wrench from my chest, and I grasped the aviator's jacket from Alfred's loosely clutched hand to bury my face in the leather, letting my broken heart escape into the worn fabric. It smelled of cologne and blood; his blood. I looked up at his sullied, pretty face and gasped weakly as I noticed a single tear slip through the grime on his cheek and between his slightly parted lips.
I wondered why it was never brought to my attention, that Alfred would perish along with so many of his people. I think I might have been speaking too soon. There had been recent discussions between my president and scientists on his strange behavior. Once again, I had never put any thought into it. To me, Alfred had always been strange. I just figured it was the ratio of his human population bringing it upon him as always. England didn't even notice, otherwise he would have put more effort into getting America to explain what was bothering him. Either way, the end result was and would be devastating. I felt my heart break a little more as I pulled Alfred's lifeless corpse closer. He stood proud, even at the end. For some reason, I could even hear the distant tune of American's anthem. I suddenly found myself humming it into his deaf ear, as if to comfort him. I cried harder, I apologized, and I confessed how much I loved him, as if in hopes it would bring him back. What a silly thought that was…
I guess I'll be following after him soon enough. From the distance, I could see a massive wave rising over the already crippled land. Even the proud, old oak tree would meet its end. But, at least, it had America by its side. It wasn't going to die alone.
Reluctantly, I left Alfred there, but I took his jacket with me. It was something that would remind me of his stubborn, but fun loving nature. I was the one that felt like I knew him best. Even more so than England. I was the one that made love to him. I was the one that witnessed his fighting strength. I was the one that learned his secret love for war. He had been mine all this time. I hated him, and I loved him. We were the better attuned, yet completely incompatible, couple amongst the other nations. I would always love him, and I would always make sure to follow him…even now. That damn American and his charming smile that always managed to melt my heart, somehow.
As the plane took off, I watched with horrid fascination as the last bit of land disappeared into the elements of water and fire. The tree uprooted from the soil, taking Alfred with it. It was his final farewell. I would miss him, even after the days my own end was met.
I love you, Alfred.
End.