Musubi's Rice Corner:

Just found Hetalia, seriously, about two days ago. This show/manga/thing is better than crack (explains why at 5:15 I'm still awake. *sheepish grin*). Anyway, this is my take on the last moments America is a colony of England. It's un-beta'd. And was written really quickly. It goes with my fanart at my devart here--- kitkatoreo [dot] deviantart [dot] com. Slightly AU-ish I guess becuase of...well, you'll see. And you'll see why you'll probably be singing Destiny's Child after. Ha!

Let me know what you think! I'm probably going to be posting more things from Hetalia on here in the future. It's, like I said, better than crack. ;)

EDIT: AHHHHHH!!! I changed Alfred's name to Albert! Ugh what the fuck??? I know it was late when I wrote this, but it wasn't that late. Sorry to all who had to read that before--did I mention this was written in about 20 minutes and not beta'd? I feel so dumb...T^T

"Say my name!" Alfred screamed, voice rough and low, barely audible over the rain's howl. Despite the pleas from the boy, Arthur kept his stance. His green eyes bore into the boy's azure eyes (once so clear with innocence, but now clouded with raw anger and impatience).

The metal tip of the bayonet grazed his jugular and Arthur though for a moment he thought the child would pierce his throat.

"Say it!" The voice was louder, though still jagged wood, cracking at the last moment. Breaths pulled evenly in and out of both bodies. The older could tell that the youngling was tired, fatigued from his second war. A smirk crossed Arthur's lips; he was a child playing grown up. He'd hoped the young hot head hadn't seen it, but the bayonet's touch told him otherwise.

"Say it," the voice softer, now jagged with raw emotion. Arthur refused to speak.

The bayonet shrank to its master in rage. "I've won! I've defeated you! Why do you deny me the one thing I want?" Alfred screamed despite his lost voice.

"You don't even know what you want, kid," Arthur finally spoke, provoked by his younger brother's choice of words. "I say your name, that's it! You're a new country. Are you ready for that?"

"Of course I am," answered too quickly.

"You think I was a challenge? What about the other nations, hmm?" Arthur let the words sit a moment. He could see Alfred mulling the words in his adolescent mind. "Once you're your own country, I can't come to the rescue and get you out of a pickle. You've never even fought your own war!"

"And what would you call this? A scrimmage? And I'm not a kid anymore!"

Arthur sighed. The child would not simply let this issue go. How he longed for the simple days! When any ailment required a look-at from him. When any success was proudly displayed. When lazy summer days were spent by the Chesapeake. When winter days meant trips to the Southern Colonies. Where did they go? Where—where did those youthful days go?

"You still got a lot to learn, kid." He could feel old scars of past battles burn under his clothes. Alfred didn't have these scars. Arthur had hoped—prayed even—that his younger sibling would never have to participate in the brutality of war.

"I'm not a kid anymore." The bayonet rose, pressing into Arthur's neck again. "So. Say. My. Name."

The wild ferocity in Alfred's eyes, the pure determination, the impatience—hell, it reminded the old Nation of his youthful days.

Arthur lowered his head, defeated, and spoke.

"You, the United States of America," fatigue and gravity took hold of his body. He fell to the ground with a muddy schlump. Tears he couldn't feel before began falling. This was it. It was finally happening. The unthinkable.

"Keep going," Alfred said excitement tugging at his words. Arthur cleared his throat and looked into the boy's—no, no longer a boy. The individual in front of him—who'd brought him to his knees crying like a woman—was a man.

"You, the United States of America are a free, independent sovereignty."