Yay! I am updating very quickly... even if the chapters are short. The story is coming out more depressing than I intended, though... Anyways, on with the story!
'Why they don't like me,' America wrote down feeling that everything they said at the meeting that day was true, 'Fat, lazy, stupid, idiot, obnoxious,' the list went on even changing into several different languages. Hardly anybody knew this, but America is multilingual. He understands what they say when they think he doesn't. He understands every word, but no one can hear the pain in his voice, him just begging to find someone to love him.
They say he has no culture, but he is a mix of all of their cultures. How could they forget those things he was based on? But they hated him, hating him even when he tried so hard to befriend them all. And he only made a fool of himself in the process, only succeeding in making more enemies.
" Why do they hate me?"America asked himself as he ran on the treadmill, trying to work off the calories from eating.He tried not to eat too much, it made him fat, and he didn't want the other nations to know about that. He does his paperwork when he gets it, not usually taking a break for anything. But at night he dreamed of them. Every time the dreams, no nightmares got worse, so America just stopped sleeping. And quite frankly, America was too afraid to try, terrified of what the night would bring.
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America placed Texas on his face and stared into the mirror.He had deep circles under his eyes, but no one had noticed. He had gotten so thin that you could see his ribs, but no one had noticed. His smile was more forced, more fake, but no one had noticed. No one had noticed how his eyes had taken on traits of a cornered animal.
'No one noticed, because... no one cares,' America looked unsurprised at his reflection, somehow expecting this, 'They expect me to be alright, never to change, never to worry about what they think. They don't care about me, no one does. They would be better off if I was dead.'
America grabbed the sink with such force that the sink broke and his hand began to bleed. He sobbed, not because of the pain -he no longer felt that-, no the facade he had so cleverly constructed began to fall. And it was only a matter of time before he was pushed over the edge.
YOU ARE READING
I'm The Hero...Right?
Random"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" . This isn't true to America, after all a person can only take so much until they break. Contains depressed! America.
