"Let's go home, America," He said coldly, "Yu don't want to be seen with his kind." He collected his colony away from me like I had the Plague, which I didn't –that was so 13th century- and gave me that ridiculous frown before he turned to leave. His eyebrows removed all traces of threat; they were just too funny!

"Oh Angleterre, don't be like that!" My lovely voice was strong –it carried to them- and that snotty Englishman froze, "L'Amerique cannot stay your little boy forever, you know! Let him grow up!"

When he looked back at me again, (a brilliant fire) burned in his emerald eyes, choking me like a hang-man's noose. It was an exhilarating moment to feel his eyes on me and only me, but I knew in the back of my mind that the young by with him was going to hurt him beyond comprehension.

"What do you know, you wine-guzzler?"

Words like blows, always; that's just how mon Angleterre is...


"He is no longer a child, Arthur..." I wanted to wax poetics of how all children 'leave the nest' once they grow, but another look in his eyes stopped my heart with compassion. He was so fragile; so far away in his shell that comforted him. Had he ever really been attainable for me? Nothing I said would reach him where he was, even if I could reach out right now and touch his paling face or hold his hands to stop their shaking. I sighed, "You need to let him go."

"Go where?" Alfred, bless his little soul, asked at the worst moment. "I wanna go! Can I? Can I please, England?!" Arthur jerked visibly and pulled away from the young boy, looking stunned as someone who'd been slapped, and I just barely caught sight f his expression before he turned from me as well.

Pain; overwhelming and disorienting pain. Because what could he say to that? 'No'?


My poor sweet Angleterre... he was so hurt. Could I comfort him now? Now that I'd poisoned his little colony's mind with thoughts of greener grass somewhere else? No, he would push me away... like always.

He still pushes me away.

Now he just loses sleep, and time, and tears over that colony –now a superpower himself- who doesn't need my Angleterre's help. My poor little Angleterre...

Sometimes I see Arthur go out for a drink, and just to be safe, I stay in the back of that wretched bar and keep my eyes n him. When he leaves, I leave; I walk the streets behind him and race ahead once it's safe. There, I make it to his petit maison and turn on the lights or light the fireplace to help him get home.

Every time, he bursts in passionately, calling for l'Amerique, but I'm the only person there. He doesn't know that, of course. I hide where he cannot see me and sneak outside, but I stay for a while. I listen to him change, cry, curl up in front of the fire I'd built, and I make sure all is well before I truly go.

Now, in the solitary days I sometimes spend, I think of Angleterre and his little l'Amerique, and I find that I am no better myself. I love him no matter what he says, or does, and it is so very foolish that I do. Jean D'Arc... our whole history in general is full of (hate) et le guerre. It's ridiculous that I love him.

His green eyes that tear at me in anger.

His mouth –succulent and sculpted- that shouted at me viciously.

His hands that never caress, only bruise and beat.

That sadistic song of curses and insults, and I dance to it; barefoot on a cloud of broken glass. Some nights, I welcome the pain and hope that ti will cut all the ties I have to the man, but other nights I crave the attention and soak it all in. My brutal, angry, foolish Angleterre.

And yet, I still light the little British lamps that guide him home through the dark, and I tuck a blanket over him when he is sleeping. He, in turn, fills my heart with warmth that he's losing to that oblivious, independent l'Amerique. This was the least I could so; he is unloved, so I will love him until he forgets all about l'Amerique. Fiery-hot, passionate love that will stop those horrible tears and fill the void in us both.

Selfish, non?

I want him. I want to hold him and drown him in my love until his tears fade and he returned to himself as he was before this colonization war. I want back the pirate I loved with so long ago, on deserted shores or cabin walls.

And so, I keep up this game of lights and shame, and I keep trying to fix him.