365daysofusuk:

AUTHOR: alfredfjonesing

May 3rd, 2014 – One Spring

England leaned back straight against the trunk of a young Virginia oak as he let out a contented sigh. Peaceful days were hard to come by for empires like him while the seventeenth century wore on, pride and avarice fueling constant disputes over New World territory. England allowed his eyes to slip closed for a brief moment and breathed in deep the early afternoon air, a long-neglected collection of poems by Shakespeare ready on his lap.

Before he even made it past the second page, the screeching of his name by a familiar voice forced his attention. He looked up quickly to see his newest little colony scampering up to him, one arm hidden behind his back and throwing him off-balance. His white baptismal shift was littered with grass stains despite being in pristine condition when England brought him outside a mere five minutes ago.

“England! England!” he chanted without pause, coming to an unsteady stop in front of his caretaker. England couldn’t suppress a foreign smile that softened his features at the boy’s infectious enthusiasm. His young charge often had that effect on him.

“Yes, America, yes.” England reached out to ruffle a bedraggled mop of golden hair affectionately as the smallest of chuckles bubbled from his chest. “What is it, lad?”

And in the most innocent way imaginable, America said, “Close your eyes and open your mouth!”

To this day, England does not know what possessed him to do just that. He knew better, honestly, than to allow a filthy little boy to shove God knows what into his mouth, and yet it happened. Looking back on it, he supposes a part of him must have assumed it would be something harmless, like one of the native berries America was always so excited to show him.

What he got, however, was the sudden unpleasant sensation of something almost fluffy being thrust clumsily straight to the back of his throat. England immediately reopened his eyes, gagging and sputtering, to the sight of America with the remains of a seeding dandelion clutched in his fingers. A delighted giggle erupted from the child as he watched his normally well-composed guardian struggle to spit out the dozens of clinging seeds in indignant shock.

“America, what in the King’s name—” England didn’t have a chance to finish. He went to stand up and America gave a playful shriek before he took off running in the direction of their shared home. Without wasting another second, England clambered to his feet and gave chase, the book of poems left forgotten in the grass behind them.