Hoowhee! Can't believe how long this is! Thanks, y'all, for reading! It's been grand!

God Bless America!

The colony waited for his brother. He waited and waited and waited. The small country's neighbor waited with him even though the snowy country hid in his house, afraid. Together, the small country's neighbor and the colony gathered their people and waited for the small country to come.

One day, a small dot appeared on the big, big sea and the colony pointed at it.

"That is my brother's flag," he said. "He is here."

The small country's neighbor sipped his coffee and looked out. "Are you afraid?" he asked.

"I am never afraid," the colony said.

The small country's neighbor smiled. "Don't be silly," he said. "Fear is something everybody feels, especially at war."

The colony looked at the ship as it got bigger and bigger on the ocean. "I am never afraid," he said.

…

The small country's neighbor and the colony went down to the harbor to meet the small country. When the colony saw his brother, his heart fell. He had hoped that the months away would make his brother less angry and help him see that the colony was right. But the small country strode to them furiously from the docks. His face was angry. His walk was angry. Even his coat was red and angry looking.

The small country's neighbor patted the colony on the back and tried to smile, but he looked afraid. So the colony stepped forward and put on his bravest face:

"Brother, I did not invite you here. Go home."

The small country spat on the ground. "You insolent child!" he yelled. "Unless you go to your room this instant and apologize for what you've done, I will have no choice but to punish you!"

The colony didn't move.

"Fine!" the small country shouted. "You want to be a country? Come on then. Show me how strong you are!"

The colony breathed in slowly. "Brother, I don't want to fight you. I do not hate you enough to want you to die. But you cannot keep me a child for the rest of my life. I am an adult now, and unless you can respect me I will have no choice but to fight you."

The small country calmed himself and sighed. "I don't hate you, little brother. Not even a little. But you cannot disrespect me so severely. I have to punish you, otherwise, when you do grow up, you will be a rude and insolent person, like my neighbor."

"Hey!" the small country's neighbor said. "That's not fair!"

"Your neighbor respects me," the colony said. "He believes that I am old enough to make my own decisions. He is a good person, and I wouldn't mind growing up like him."

"You can't possibly mean that," the small country said.

"That day in the plains," the colony said. "I should have chosen to be with your neighbor instead."

A silence fell over the three men. The colony glared at his older brother. The small country's neighbor blushed, embarrassed. And the small country's shoulders fell and his eyes filled with tears.

"Is that how you really feel?" the small country whispered.

And even though he didn't really mean it, the colony nodded his head.

"Fine," the small country said. "Fine. Rest well. In the morning, we fight as countries."

The small country stormed off before his little brother could see him cry.

The colony watched his brother grow smaller and smaller. Not until the small country's back disappeared around the town corner did he let out the sob he'd kept in his chest since his brother disappeared in his big, big ship four months ago.

The colony held his face and cried. He cried and he cried and he cried. He cried until the small country's neighbor ushered him back into his house and sat him down by the fireplace. He cried until his eyes stung and it hurt to breathe. He cried until he fell asleep and the small country's neighbor gingerly carried him to his bed and tucked him in.

…

The colony did not have fancy guns like the small country or his neighbor. He did not have pretty coats or enough bullets or even enough food for his soldiers. But he did have the courage of a little boy who grew up in wild, untamed lands with strange and delicious plants and nobody in sight for miles and miles. He did have the stubbornness of a child who against every odd survived the deadliest winters just to see the spring creep over the snow and bathe the land in green and sun. He did have the strength of a man who knows he is right and is more than willing to wrestle a bear to the ground to prove it to the world.

The morning after the small country arrived, he and the colony met once more. They walked to the middle of a large valley, their armies staring at each other, waiting for the word to fight. The colony's army shouted at the men in red coats, insulting them and telling them to go home. The army in the red coats taunted them back, laughing at their rags and their hunting guns, while they wore clean, new uniforms and had shiny new guns.

As their men shouted, the colony and his brother stared at each other silently. The small country was suddenly struck by how very, very tall the colony had grown. He remembered how small he had been when he found the child in the plains. The colony saw a scar on the small country's hand and remembered how he had kissed it when he was a child to make his brother feel better.

The brothers stood, staring at each other, surrounded by shouting and taunting and threats. But they stood like statues in front of their men.

"It's not too late," the small country said finally. "Turn back now. End this before your men die."

The colony looked back at his army. They were hunters and writers and cooks. They were not soldiers. They laughed and shouted insults at the red coated army.

"If I tell them to," the small country said, "they will kill everyone in your army. They won't leave anyone alive. Neither of us wants that. Stand down and I will send them home. Stand down and no one will die. Stand down and things can go back to the way they were."

The colony bit his lip. He had never killed anybody and despite everything, he still loved his brother very, very much. He looked up at his older brother and opened his mouth to respond.

Just as the colony's lips parted, he heard a loud "BANG!"

And a scream.

Shouts of confusion from his army as one of his men fell to his knees and died.

The colony looked in horror at the dead man and glared at his brother. "You killed him!"

"I didn't kill him!" the small country said. "I swear I didn't!"

"Prepare yourself, brother," the colony growled. "This is not going to end well for you."

…

The colony was strong and his men were strong. His army wore rags for days at a time and wrapped their feet in cloth when they marched right through their boots. They didn't have enough bullets and they didn't have enough food. But they had the colony- a bright, funny, courageous young man- and that was enough.

The small country and the colony fought. At first, the small country looked like he would win very quickly. He had fancy coats and shiny guns, after all. But as the months rolled on, as the weeks turned from warm to wet to slushy to frozen, as the years dredged on, bringing rain and snow and unbearable heat, the colony grew stronger. He grew stronger and stronger and stronger. He grew stronger until the small country almost didn't recognize him from the fire that burned in his eyes.

Men fell around the colony on fields strewn with bodies and watered with blood. But the colony moved like a bull.

And he killed.

The small country watched the toddler he found one summer day in the plains kill for the very first time. He watched his little brother retch with horror. But then he saw him fight harder as his own men fell.

War is a terrible thing. It turns men that were once children into murderers. It covers smiles and adorable dimples in blood and mud. It drowns out the punchline of a joke in the boom of cannon.

For years they fought. Sometimes, but not always, the small country's neighbor would show up just as the colony thought he might lose and help him push the small country back. And sometimes, but not always, the small country would catch the colony's gaze. And he would remember teaching him how to fish, and how to aim his gun. And it hurt him to remember. It hurt him deep inside his chest in a place he didn't even know could feel that kind of hurt. And he would feel his resolve slip.

And his army would fall back.

…

It was raining that day. The dark clouds covered the sun completely and the armies stood, exhausted, glaring at each other in the mud.

The colony stared at his brother. He was surrounded by great men. Men who had heard the bullets whistle past their ears and felt no fear. Men who had killed greater men than themselves in the name of their colony. Men who wanted freedom.

The colony was surrounded by these great men, but the small country was alone. None of his men were strong enough or brave enough to stand against the colony and his great men.

The small country sank to his knees in the mud, waiting for his brother- the baby he had raised from the plains- to take the final blow against him.

But when the colony stepped forward, he cocked his head innocently and held his gun at his side.

"You used to be so big," the colony said sadly.

Even though he tried to choke them back, the small country let out his strangled sobs. "You idiot!" he cried against the roar of the rain. "I wanted to protect you from this!"

The colony smiled sadly. "I don't need you to protect me anymore," he said. "I am big enough and strong enough that I can hit back. I am a country now. We are equals. Go home."

The thunder clapped around them and the new country turned back to his men, exhausted, but ready to celebrate. And the small country felt his chest tighten.

"No," he whispered. "No! I won't let you!"

Without realizing his body, the small country raised himself to his feet and began to run. He ran at his little brother, furious, horrified, scared. He screamed and raised the pointy part of his gun.

But the new country heard him and turned around. He held his gun out like a shield and the pointy part of the small country's gun struck the butt.

The two men froze and stared at each other. The small country slowly looked down to where the blade of his bayonet lay embedded in the wood and time froze for a minute.

The new country, the man who was once a colony, hadn't used his gun to kill his brother. He hadn't pulled the trigger, pointing it at the small country's belly. He had used his weapon- as a shield.

The small country dropped his gun and staggered back. He covered his face and sobbed against the pouring rain. He sobbed. He sobbed and he sobbed and he sobbed.

He sobbed until he felt a hand on his back and heard the squelch of mud in front of him. He wiped his face and looked up into the face of his little brother.

The new country smiled softly. He smiled and he spoke:

"I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living,

My brother you'll be."