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ALFRED JONES.
ARTHUR KIRKLAND.
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THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. xx
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It was a grueling war, blood shedded everywhere, and it seeped into the hearts of many soldiers.
The rain didn’t pass, and neither did the violence that tangoed throughout the battlefield. Alfred took a deep breath, hugging his gun close to his chest. He could feel the little droplets of rain roll down his face, he watched them fall off the tips of his hair. His back laid against the dirt of the trenches, his fingers grasped his gun as if it was his child. He knew he had to advance, but he also knew that the British supply was running short, so they would have to retreat.
Alfred just waited and waited for the gunfire to cease, he squinted his eyes shut and transferred to a place familiar but different.
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It was such a breathtaking day, the birds were singing their song, and the tall grass swayed softly within the wind. Arthur held hands with his son, leading him to the only spot that he knew— a tranquil little meadow that quietly flowed down a hill.
There were lilies that bloomed on the surface of the water, bumping into each other every so often from the waters pressure.
A willow tree’s branches flew with the breeze in the distance. Its leaves reaching as far to the ground as possible.
Alfred was in awe at how beautiful this place was. The bright sun really enhanced its beauty, adding to its dreamy atmosphere. Even if Alfred was still young, he found a fondness for landscapes, which were easy to find in the colonies.
Arthur took out a cloth and shook it a few times, laying it on the ground.
“Well, come on then Alfred! Sit down.”
Arthur said, taking a seat on the cloth as he patted to his side, smiling softly. His son nodded excitedly, holding his little soldier toys, plopping down right beside Arthur. Though, instead of playing with them, Alfred looked at the scene, still admiring it.
Arthur chuckled and ruffled Alfred’s hair.
“Whatcha you looking at there, chap?”
Alfred grinned and pointed to lilies in the water, watching them float their way into each other and away again. Arthur began to watch with him.
“They are quite beautiful, Mr. England!”
Alfred added, momentarily looking up at his father who also had a smile on his lips. Arthur sighed and looked down at his son, a content expression on his face. Alfred tilted his head and continued to watch the meadow.
A comfortable silence breezed in for a while as Alfred looked down and toyed with his soldier figurines. He felt forever indebted to Arthur for his hand that he sacrificed in repairing these toys.
Though, Arthur just gazed upon the willow tree standing on the opposite side of the meadow. Then the glimmering water which sparkled in the presence of the sun. He watched the little weeds sway under the shade of a tree nearby. His eyes returned back to the willow, observing its branches.
“Alfred,”
Arthur spoke up, eyes still on the willow tree. Alfred looked up from his toys and nodded.
“Yes, Mr. England?”
“Would you like to stand in the water with me? I reckon it’s relatively cool.”
Alfred eagerly nodded and stood up, grinning again. Arthur chuckled and nodded standing up as well.
They slipped off their shoes and socks, Arthur helped Alfred roll up the hem of his pants, and he rolled his own pants up too, getting ready to take a nice walk in the water. Both of them sauntered down to the meadow, dipping their feet in, feeling the coolness spread throughout their body. It was definitely pretty cold, despite the shining sun, however it felt calming.
Alfred treaded in the shallow water, eyes down and somehow very focused on the pattern of which the meadow was coming. Arthur bent down and let his fingers feel the water, flicking them up to splash Alfred with a good amount.
Alfred looked back and laughed.
“Hey, no fair! Come back!”
He ran over to a fleeing Arthur, attempting to splash him with the cool water. They ran in circles, Alfred so close yet so far.
Eventually he caught up to his father.
Later that day, Alfred fell asleep on Arthur’s shoulder, pants still rolled up, both of their clothes still dripping wet from the previous water fight.
They sat through the Sunday, lazing around in the sun. And it was the best day of Alfred’s life.
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The exchanging of gunfire came to a halt, and Alfred shook himself back to reality. He sighed and stood up from the trenches, but a surprise bullet penetrated his thigh. Alfred winced in pain, falling to his knees, grasping his leg tightly as he put pressure on it. He looked around for his men, but it seemed they had all left the field, supposedly not noticing Alfred sitting tensely in the trenches.
From a distance, he saw another red coat approach him. Alfred huffed and took his gun, aiming to shoot the soldier, but his wound refrained him from doing so.
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Arthur walked as if it was a leisure to Alfred. The sun revealed itself from the storming clouds, adding more light to the landscape. Once he was in front of Alfred, his eyes gazed at his son, not even moving his bayonet. Alfred grunted, his eyes full of anger when he saw his father.
“A-Arthur.”
He whispered, a mix of betrayal and rage laced within his tone. But Arthur indifferently stared at Alfred, staring down at him as if he was a mere servant to him.
“How do you feel about this revolution now, hm?”
Arthur asked, a tense feeling still crossed his body. Alfred scoffed as he tried to rip a piece of his shirt off as a makeshift tourniquet.
“B-better than your parenting will ever be.”
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harshly, he wanted to at least have a good talk with Alfred before killing him. Not kill him right off the bat from pure emotion.
A ripping noise faintly came from Alfred. It seemed he had successfully managed to rip off the bottom of his shirt, tightly wrapping it around his thigh.
“Alfred. I just want to talk—“
“Save it.”
Arthur clicked his tongue and ran it over the top set of his teeth.
Alfred grunted from the pain still lingering in his leg, he managed to get up on his knees, but that was about it.
Uncomfortable and tense silence breezed for quite a long time over the battlefield.
“Tsk, what is all this fuss even fo—“
“You betrayed me.”
Alfred cut in, Arthur looked surprised and grasped the sides of his pants.
“You and your stupid taxes, your acts, your constant corruption. It’s all… so goddamn useless! We’re just another one of those cash colonies you Europeans have, right?! Did I EVER mean ANYTHING to you?! Or was it all just for the money and wealth and power, huh?”
Arthur was taken aback by what Alfred had just splurged out. He bit his lip and huffed.
“Maybe you are just another one of my colonies, maybe I did intend to use you solely for money.”
He responded, his previous indifference stance has changed drastically. Alfred glanced at the grass, the dew glistened beautifully in the sun’s shine. Arthur watched the dew with him, but was quick to get back on topic.
“It’s really no use in trying to win this revolution— considering the state you’re in right now.”
Alfred’s gaze reverted back to Arthur.
“It’s necessary, cause do you think that I would enjoy being under your wing?”
Arthur shifted. The breeze blew with his words, his tone and face along with it.
“It’s not about your enjoyment, it’s about your survival in the real world—“
“Oh! So now you care about me, it’s always you.”
Alfred yelled, clenching his teeth tightly. But his anger was to be stopped by the blade of Arthur’s bayonet, pointed straight at him.
Alfred’s breath turned deep from mental and physical exhaustion being placed on him. His blue eyes once shined so bright, hadn’t been the same anymore. But there wasn’t anything he could do, reaching for his gun may just put more physical strain on him. So he bravely looked into Arthur’s eyes, his fingers feeling the grass, maybe to try and calm him down. To no one’s surprise, it didn’t help. However nothing was better than to stand with his American spirit with valor in front of the very person who had been oppressing him for years.
But it took a while to pull the trigger. He couldn’t do it, it seemed too cruel of a fate. To be killed by your own father.
But Alfred thought otherwise, the breeze blew in a way that made it ideal for an eternal slumber. The sun shined nicely onto the battlefield, again, making the grass shimmer like mounds of sparkles.
“What are you waiting for, Arthur?”
Arthur didn’t know, but his finger couldn’t pull the switch that would change history.
“I…I can’t do it.”
Alfred was quite surprised, but he didn’t dare to show it on his expression. Instead he stayed silent, watching as the wind blew Arthur’s hair forward.
For once, there was peace instead of unrest. For once, they could stay together without arguments.
For once, a destined execution had to be carried out.
Alfred’s blood was the last one to be shed on this field. And Arthur made sure of it. Tears silently fell down his cheeks as he watched the lifeless body of his son fall to the ground in an instant. Dropping his bayonet, just as he dropped to his knees, sulking over the forever bond between father and son.
The willow tree behind Alfred rustled in the calming wind, its leaves and branches trying to reach the ground as much as possible. The breeze, the shining sun, and the tranquil little dew that stayed on the blades of grass remained just the way it was.
Would American spirit live on to those little figurines that will stay eternally in the wrath of violence and war. Still fighting on with each other near that meadow, in a thousand years.
Arthur’s hand reached out to wipe the blood that dripped from his lips.
Will the last breeze of this day sway the willow trees, move the lilies, and splash the meadow.
Will the bond of two countries never sever.
FIN.