Ramble #6: I wanted power, you wanted supremacy. I wanted riches, you wanted treasures. I wanted elegance, you wanted beauty. I wanted to be friends, you wanted to be lovers.
He'd always been called greedy by those around him. But he never agreed. Sure, every now and then he liked to indulge himself with two or three more burgers than was normal, but otherwise he'd eat "a reasonable four per meal, maybe five if he'd had a bad day." The others called him out for being the reason for the global food crisis. "But that's not true! He'd share if they'd asked! He was a nice guy, a hero every second of his life! All they had to do was ask nicely, but what did they do instead? Grumble and whine and curse him. Serves them right for having no food."
The others, especially him, liked to refer to him as the epitome of capitalistic greed, exploiting those who were in poorer positions than he for his own selfish gains. "That wasn't true! He was a firm believer of meritocracy and democracy, the only reasons he didn't share with those poorer than he was because they pissed him off or didn't ask nicely. It was their fault, not his."
Some, like me, called him a hypocrite for condemning colonialism. Twenty years ago, he'd have flown into a rage had anyone said that. Twenty years ago, his name would have been the United States of America.
Now? Not even I, as his right hand, know who he is anymore.
"Arthur, how's the situation in South Africa coming along?"
"Smoothly, Alfred. The savage's riots have ceased, and tensions have lowered to a safe enough level for our citizens to return to the settlement. I await your instruction for further action on the savages."
"... Well... Gather them in one place. Tell them that we are organizing a one-time community gathering for the natives to reunite with their old friends and family or some other bullshit to that effect. Burn them. They've been headache enough."
"B-But Alfred! Would not all their merchandise and crafts die with them? Spare a few at least! Perhaps we can convert them, an Honorary system or-"
"Just do as you're told, England! Remember why you're still alive. If you wear the favor I have in you thin…"
"Y-Y-Yes sir. I understand I have overstepped my boundaries. Your word is my command."
I don't understand why you give them a damn. As long as it makes money, it doesn't have to be special. Then again, you've always paid very special attention to details, to finery, nuances, and all that crap. But now that you work under me, you'll need to start seeing the bigger picture, England.
Although... half the land we've gained is his after all, and most of our military might comes from him too. If he were to go against me...
To many, myself included, America is an explosion of contradictions. He is boisterous, yet strangely placid. Innovative, yet conservative; out-spoken, yet shy; insensitive, yet romantic; a slob, yet meticulous. To me, he was all these and more. A confusing, complex jumble of this, yet that, never seeming to settle with anything yet in being ever-changing, was being constant: predictable yet unpredictable. But most of all, what drew me to him, was how all these contradictions flowed together, into each other, blending in seamlessly yet messily, elegantly.
Elegance was something I strove for in myself.
Throughout the course of my history, 'elegance' has had many forms. From wild, golden-haired dames with fair voices to sleek-suited, polished-shoed men with smooth, low timbres. Every form elegant in their own right, yet with so many within me, I felt messy, displaced, clumsy.
Everything he wasn't. Everything I didn't want to be.
Yet she was no different.
She had a thick head of tousled brown, accompanied by long, gangly limbs, a pinched waist, and silicone breasts. Fake, plastic, pig-headed, pretentious. Disgusting and inelegant.
Still, she walks into his chamber as though she owns it, her four-inch inch heels thocking dully against the carpeted floor. She lays a hand upon his proud shoulder, flutters her mascara-lined, extension lashes, and giggles through glossy, painted lips. Through those same lips, she whispers his name, and her tinny voice cuts through my ears like needles, like poison.
America laughs, a deep, resounding thing that tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes sparkle with mischief and lust.
I watch from the door, open just a crack, as he raises his gloved hands to her shoulders, gently coaxing her out of her shimmering, revealing dress, watching as it slides sensually down her bronze skin in waves of rich satin and silk. I feel a burning, and my vision clouds, still I watch.
America sweeps his eyes over her disproportionate, anorexic frame, and smirks in approval. He snaps off her bra and shoves her down onto his ruby sheets, assaulting her exposed flesh with bites and kisses, sucking and licking as he unbuckles his belt and tosses it aside. She moans like the wanton whore that she is, whimpering and begging for more, frantically aiding Alfred in removing his trousers and begins sliding herself against his leg. I swallow my rising bile, biting down on my fingers to keep my vision clear.
"Be patient, beauty."
Her garters and stockings follow its ilk onto the cold masonry, and Alfred eases himself into her. There is a moment of silence as both of their forms still, and my fingers slide out of my mouth and down my lip. America whispers something in her ear, likely a question, but her breathing is ragged, and her reply delayed.
"You ready to go, babe?"
As she nods, my fingers slip past the waistband, and I prod myself with apprehension. He begins to move, slowly at first, his breath coming out in short pants, misting in the cool night air. She cries out, in pain or pleasure - I cannot tell, digs her nails into his back, and winds her stick-like legs around his waist. A spasm rips through me as I push in and out, my head collapsing against the door frame and my cheeks flushed.
The scent of sweat and sex has permeated the room, but I'm too far gone to truly notice, I shift slightly and let that certain spot be stroked. Immediately after, I clamp down on my lower lip, jewel red blood oozing from the torn tissue and the burning intensifies. America thrusts viciously and rapidly, and I spasm in time to the rhythm he's set. I can feel myself nearing my limit, and Alfred is almost there too. He grunts in exertion, sweat beading down his head and chiseled torso, his sharp ceruleans go out of focus once more as my vision clouds. I see white, and a mixture of disgust and pleasure seizes me as a cry dies in my throat.
"You're so beautiful, babe... So, so beautiful..."
I slowly withdraw my trembling hand, and in the background hear her damning voice murmur sweet poison to the other. I scramble away hastily, determined to be as far from this room as I possibly could without leaving the house, and finally, the first tears fall.
I've been lying awake here for what seems like hours, staring pensively at my door. There's a slight shift to my right, but I pay no heed. It's only her after all.
The door is ajar. Yet empty as it stands, swinging slightly in the night breeze, it seems to me that there's a single figure, laying against the door frame, panting and wanking. Moist chartreuse pleading at me from beneath golden lashes.
And so I know that he's been watching again.
With that, I allow myself to slip into unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge that England still loves me too much...
However disturbing that might be.
Word count: 1,432
Emm... If you're wondering why this is Ramble 6 even though it's only the second chapter, well... You see, on Facebook, I posted a series of statuses that were sorta like prompts and yea, these are the fanfics based on those statuses. I didn't write them in order, but by whichever struck some inspiration in me first. There are about 10 prompts. More may come, but we'll cross those bridges when we get there~ ^^