A/N: Hey, guys! So, I'm publishing yet another story when I should be working on "Broken Heart", but I had to write this fic. I've been depressed as of late (the legit I want to kill myself kind), and rather than telling my parents and risk not being believed, I decided to write a story with depression in it. The only reason why it has a happy ending is because I was listening to mostly happy music while writing it. Well, now that I'm just rambling:
ON WITH THE STORY!
The room is littered with dirty clothes and empty cans of beer. It is dark as the lamp is turned off and the curtains are drawn. All is silent. At first glance, one might say that the room is void of any people, but another look might show the lump on the bed is more than just the blanket balled up.
The soft sounds of breathing can be heard as the comforter moves up and down ever so slightly. The breathing turns into quiet sobs as the one under the covers wakes up from his restless sleep.
Alfred has sunk into a deep depression, and it has nothing to do with his economy not doing too well. (He can handle that.) No, it has to do with knowing everyone hates him and his people.
He wouldn't mind if the other personifications just hated him. He would be able to deal with that. But, that is unfortunately not the case. It's the other countries' people as well that hate his own.
He knows that he is rather gluttonous and ignorant—there is nothing that can be done about that—and that many of his citizens are too, but he also knows that not everyone is. He can feel the pain of his "children". They are ashamed to live in a country accused of being fat and stupid.
He doesn't really no why he helps other countries anymore; all they do is taunt him. He has never received so much as a "thank you" from anyone he has ever helped. He can't even remember the last time someone returned the favor, if they ever did at all. And yet, he puts a smile on his face and assists anyone and everyone.
His smiles used to be real, but lately, he has had to force them. He can't remember the last time he let a true grin grace his face.
The others can't see that he is no longer happy. They are too wrapped up in noting his flaws. He doesn't understand why he is the one to get picked on. Every nation has their follies; it's not like he is the only one.
All he wants is for someone to be grateful towards him, to be kind to him.
He hasn't been to the last few world meetings. He hasn't answered any of the calls he's gotten—they have stopped calling him anyway. He hasn't left his house in almost a month. He has barely eaten anything in that time period either, just enough to keep him alive.
As much as he would like to, he knows that he cannot kill himself. He couldn't do that to his people.
His thoughts are interrupted when he hears loud knocking on his door. At first, he doesn't move. He doesn't want to answer it.
He eventually forces himself to stumble from his bedroom to the front door. He opens the door, expecting England or even his boss. Instead, he finds that the person has left. He figures that it was a prank until he sees it: an eviction notice.
He sinks down to his knees. This was the last thing he needed. He knows that it's his own fault as he hasn't paid the rent in almost half a year.
This was the last straw. Even though it would mean the end of his country and his people, America no longer cares. He is going to finish himself off.
He laughs bitterly as he drags the razor across the skin of his wrist, watching the crimson liquid pour out. Of all the ways he thought he would die, suicide had never been one of them, until he got tired of all the remarks about him.
He is getting dizzy now, dizzy enough that everything was just a blur. As his world goes black, he hopes he will never open his eyes to it again.
Before Alfred even opens his eyes, he can feel the warmth of sunlight on his face. He opens them and looks about his surroundings. He is in a meadow of sorts. The grass is a beautiful light green and adorned with flowers that were colored red, white, and blue. He chuckles a bit at that.
"Welcome to my meadow, child."
He jumps in surprise at the kind voice. He looks up and sees a mysterious looking woman. She has black hair that is tinted with purple and her eyes hold every color known to man and more in them. Her skin is as white as snow.
"W-who are you?" He asks
"I am nothing and I am everything," is her cryptic reply. She is just as enigmatic as her appearance.
"Well, what is this place?"
"I told you, child. This is my meadow."
"Where exactly is your meadow? And, I am not a child!"
"You are in a state between life and death. You have been given a choice on whether you want to live or to die." the woman says.
She begins talking again when Alfred opens his mouth to say that he wants to die. "Before you say that you would like to pass on to the Otherworld, let me show you how others would be affected by your death."
She grabs his hand and the pasture begins to fade until they are in a room filled with the other nations. Most of them have grave expressions on their faces, some are even crying. He looks up and sees the reason for their grief.
It is himself; his body is in a casket in the front of the room.
He looks over to the first row of chairs and sees France with his arms around England. They both look terrible. England is sobbing freely into the Frenchman's chest while France looks like he wants to do the same. He sees his brother, crying in the corner of the room. He is not being comforted at all because no one can see him. (Alfred feels bad for him.)
Arthur suddenly screams, "MY BABY!"
Everyone, including America, is taken aback by the unexpected outburst.
France shushes him and takes the still bawling Briton out of the room. Alfred follows them out.
"W-why d-did I h-have t-t-to be s-s-s-so m-mean to our son?" Arthur is asking.
"Shhhh, mon petit lapin," Francis replies, "You didn't know that he would do that to himself."
"That's no excuse, bloody frog! I should have been nicer to him, we all should have!"
"I know, Angleterre. I know."
England sinks down to his knees and America sees his face for the first time. It is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. It is clear that he has not gotten much, if any, sleep. France, who has let the tears begin cascading down his eyes, picks him up and kisses him on the lips.
"Let's go back in, cherie," The Frenchman says and Arthur nods.
"Get me out of here!" Alfred cries to the woman suddenly.
"There is just one more thing I would like to show you, child."
The scene fades once more and they are in a barren wasteland. It appears that the land had been racked with natural disasters and nuclear explosions.
"Where are we?" Alfred questions.
"America. Besides all of the natural disasters that occurred, Russia invaded the country. It now belongs to him."
"What?" his eyes widen, "There is no way…"
"This is what happens when a nation kills him or herself."
"Alright! I choose to live! Just get me out of here!"
The woman smiles, and Alfred feels himself begin to get lighter. The image of the woman gets fuzzier and fuzzier until there is nothing left but darkness.
He opens his eyes and is in his bathroom once again. The cut on his wrist and all the blood is gone. He smiles the first real smile in what seems like forever.
He may have lost one of his homes and the other nations might still mock him, but he knows now that, deep down, many of them really do care. He may never get an actual spoken "thank you", but he knows that they are appreciative.
He decides he is going to call his "mother" and make fun of him for being a girl. Yep, he was back to the old America. And it is going to stay that way.
A/N: Okay. I'm going to write one more oneshot before I begin working on the next chapter of Broken Heart.
If you haven't read the first chapter, go read it!
And finally, I am thinking of making a fic based off of Twilight (I promise no sparkling fairies, though.) The main cast will be as follows:
Tell me what you think! Trust me, it will be better than the series. I honestly hate Twilight, but I thought it could work if I made some alterations.