America ran as fast as he could to the back yard! England was coming! England was coming! Normally, he would be rushing out to meet him, but not this time. This time, England was the last person he wanted to see. He looked around the backyard-trying to decide what to do. It was too late to jump the fence and head for the woods. They were too far away, and England was too close. Surly, England would see him. After a moment of carful strategic planning, America decided his only safe bet was to hide in the big apple tree in the back yard. With his axe still in hand, he began to work his way up the tree.

Of course, we all know America's brilliant plan of hiding in an apple tree was not the best idea he ever had. If America had put more thought into it, he would have realized that it was an especially futile hiding spot, considering it was his favorite hiding place. The apple tree would be the first place England would look for him. But then, it's always hard for a young boy to think logically when he knows he's about to get caught in an unpardonable crime against his guardian.

When America had gone as far as he could go, he sat against the tree and waited. He was breathing heavily. His heart was pounding. He was clutching his axe as if his hands were permanently stuck to it. What had he done? What had he done? England was going to kill him! He just knew it! When England got mad, his punishment was always swift and hard. America was terrified, but still, he knew he deserved it. He had broken a promise-AND destroyed a very precious possession in the process!

Earlier that week, England had come to visit America. America had been so excited! He was always glad to get a visit from his older brother. Usually, England would bring a surprise gift for America. After America had torn off the wrapping of this visit's gift, he was sure it was the best gift yet!

"An axe? No way! You're giving me my own axe?" America had shouted in amazement. England had smiled, obviously delighted that his gift was appreciated.

"You're getting older now. I've taught you how to use one over my last few visits. I decided it might be time for you to have one of your own. Besides, with winter coming up, I figured it would be useful to you."

"Thanks, Arthur!" America had jumped up to hug him, but England stopped him. The axe was still in America's hand.

"Be careful!" England had called out as he had stopped America from accidentally whacking his shoulder with the blade. "However, I am giving this to you on one condition," England had then continued sternly, "This is a tool-not a toy. You must be very careful with it. Use it only when you need it, and only on items for which an axe is designed," With that, England had rubbed his shoulder where the axe would have landed. Giving a reassuring smile at the young boy, he then continued, "By the way, I am not one of those items." After the short lecture, America had held the axe carefully and respectfully.

"I'm sorry," he had said, "I'll be more careful."

"Is that a promise?"

"I promise! I'll be really careful, and I won't misuse it! You can trust me!

After that, America could hardly contain himself. He had been so honored to be trusted with such a huge reasonability! He had wanted to prove that he could handle it like an adult…but then, he was also itching to try it out. What boy wouldn't be?

"Can I chop up some firewood with it?"

"Now?"

"Please? I promise I'll be careful! And I'll only chop the fire wood!"

"Very well. Chop as much as you like, but only the firewood."

After being given permission, America had gone chop crazy. By the end of the week he had seemingly chopped enough fire wood to last him for ten winters! England was starting to wonder if giving him the axe was a good idea. In the end, England had decided to himself that as long as the boy was amused and was not harming anything, it was all alright. After all, boys would be boys.

Today, the day that the horrible incident occurred, England had gone to town to restock the cupboards on tea. America hated shopping, so he had elected to stay behind and "guard" the house with his new axe. Smiling a smile of pure affection, and reminding his little brother to be careful, England had left the house in America's charge.

Unfortunately, America had gotten bored. After pacing the entry way for an hour he had given up his post of "house guardian." There just wasn't a waiting list of enemies threatening to break down the door, and that made guarding it completely uninteresting. America had searched in vain for something else occupy his time, but nothing had interested him. He had not wanted to read, play with any of his toys, or work on his studies, and there had been nothing good to eat in the kitchen. All he had really wanted to do was use his axe, but all of the firewood was already chopped up. Suddenly, he had had an idea. In his mind, it had probably been the greatest idea he had ever had: He would chop down a tree!

Following his eureka moment, America had gone deep into the forests behind his house. Any other person would have gotten lost, but not him. America knew his land like the back of his hand. He thrived on being outdoors. It was where he had been born. He had known exactly where he was going that morning. Before long, he had reached his destination: the tallest, biggest, tree in the forest. He was not going to chop down just any old tree! America had started swinging with all his might. That tree was coming down! America had never chopped down a tree before. He had imagined it would be easy: just a few smacks with an axe, and your done, right? Plus, America was abnormally strong. He was even stronger than England at times. How could he not have the tree cut down and dragged home by teatime?

Sadly, after swinging the axe for what seemed like ages, even the young America had began to tire. Even with all his efforts, the tree had just barely been cut into by the time the boy had decided to stop. Cutting down a tree had been proving more difficult than America had imagined.

"Maybe I should start with a smaller tree…" he had said to himself when he had gotten his breath back. He had picked up his axe and started back towards his house, but before he left, he faced the tree one more time.

"Don't you dare think I'm giving up! I'll be back for you later!"

He had wanted to make sure the tree knew he was not defeated. He was just taking a break. America was a boy who never gave up once he set his mind to something. After walking a little ways towards the house, America had come upon the perfect tree. It had not been very thick, but it was tall. In no time at all, the boy had it tumbling to the ground.

"Yes! Victory!" he had yelled out for the whole world to hear. He had cut down his first tree!

It's amazing how good a simple thing like chopping down a tree can make a young boy feel. It makes him feel strong. It makes him feel mature. It makes him feel like he can do anything. Well, chopping down a tree had had the same effect on America…especially the "feel like he can do anything" part.

The rest of the way home for America had been spent chopping down trees. He could not resist bringing down any tree in sight that he had known he could conquer. With each felled tree, he had felt more powerful. And with each felled tree, he had also lost touch with a little bit more of reality. Soon, he had started only chopping down the really skinny ones. They had been fun because they could have been taken down with only one swing of his mighty axe. His imagination had begun to run away with him around that time. He had no longer been America cutting down trees. He was a fierce king from one of England's fairy tale books, taking on giants, one by one.

Once he had exited the forest, he had become too full of himself for his own good. He had begun bragging to himself about being the hero of the land and making speeches to the pretend townsfolk he had just saved. He had hopped over the back fence and strolled into the front yard (swinging his now magical, giant-fighting, axe every now and then for effect). Upon entering the front yard, he had spotted a new giant threat. There had been a cherry tree in the front yard; one just a few feet taller than him. It was a very special tree. But America had not seen it as a tree, that time. It was a giant. Boldly, America had approached it.

"You dare to come to my own home, foul beast?" (He had been trying his best to imitate England's funny accent) "You shall now feel the taste of my blade! Be gone!"

With that threat, America had begun to slash wildly at the giant. To be fair, he had never had any real intention of cutting the cherry tree down. There had still been a part of him that knew the tree was off limits, but the much bigger part of him that had been growing ever since his first tree-chopping victory was waving away all worries and telling him that there was no harm in pretending to cut down the tree. And so, America had been there, in the front lawn, swinging his axe just beyond the tree's reach, when in all waving back and forth, there had come a time when he had misjudged the distance between the axe and the tree. Like the trees in the forest before it, the cherry tree had fallen with one quick slash!

As soon as America had felt the axe make contact with the tree, he knew he had gone too far. Helplessly, he had watched with horror as the tree flew through the air. Still in the swinging motion, himself, he had felt as if both he and the tree were moving in slow motion. When it had touched the ground, time had stopped, and America stood looking, dumbfounded, at the fallen tree. He had then dropped his axe in shock.

Unfortunately for him, he had not had much time to really take in the seriousness of his situation. The sound of a familiar whistling had reached his ears. As he had turned to look down the road, all of his "I can do anything" attitude shrank into nothingness. England had been walking down the road, and was almost home! As if it was a reflex, America had picked up the axe and raced into the back yard. He had not known what he was going to do, but he did know he did not want to face England.

And that is why the boy called America was sitting, shaking, high, up in an apple tree and away from his brother.

What am I going to do?

He kept thinking to himself. He never came up with an answer. All he could think about was that poor defenseless cherry tree: the tree that had bloomed such beautiful flowers in the spring, the tree from which he and England had picked cherries to make pies and other treats, the tree under which they had read books, the tree that America would sit by to remind him of England when he was away, the tree that they had planted together soon after England had adopted America as his younger brother. America remembered that day very well. He had been much younger. Not much more than a toddler. England had been teaching him about how things grow. England had helped him plant the small seed. They had watched it grow together over the years. England was very fond of it. Every time he came to visit, he would remark how America was shooting up just like the cherry tree.

And America had cut it down.

America felt sick. All he could do was sit in the apple tree and wait for his judgment, which would surly come. He didn't have to wait long. He heard England's quick footsteps and his sharp voice after only a few minutes:

"Alfred!"

Author's note: You can read this story and others on my Deviantart account (4TheFunOfIt) if you like.