If you're quiet enough did you know that you can hear the earth breathe beneath your feet? It can be so clear that it echoes and thumps like a heart beat. As if a body was buried, sleeping just beneath the surface.
When my paranoia had subsided the wind and the snow seemed to die down and became calm. I made my way back to the house, but as I opened the door the air seemed just as cold as it did outside. The fire had died and the lights turned off. I searched and noticed America's coat was gone as well.
"That idiot".
I shut the door behind me and began my search. At least the blizzard had stopped, but the snow still continued to flutter. I called out to him a numerous times, but of course a reply could not be given. It seemed hopeless to the snow canceling my voice to the fact that America can't speak. What was I to do?
I stood there in thought and eventually I could hear it. I looked down at the snow and listened eager to hear it once more.
"...thump..."
It was almost as if I could feel it a soft thumping beneath the snow. It was a weak sensation, but from then on I knew exactly what to do.
I stopped and listened with every step I took, searching for which direction the pulse was the loudest. Once I had used this ability of mine when I was younger hunting rabbits. It wasn't hard to learn it just came to me. I suppose when you've been outside in the snow since birth a sixth sense is given to make surviving this lands harsh terrane.
It didn't take long for the sound of the heart beat to lead me to what I wanted. I watched my feet as if I could see those soft ripples of sound. Eventually I stopped to investigate a faded puddle of blood soaked deep into the snow. There were smaller lighter patches of blood leading away just a little off to the right. In that direction was a steep decline in the geographical makeup. I looked below seeing that same trail of blood and followed it with caution.
I wasn't partially apathetic as my expression was written, but nor was I really worried. It was inevitable, right? America had to die by the end of this game. I made sure that the final outcome would be me in the end. Even if he did manage to survive all this he'd still be in that house voiceless and forgotten.
Yes, I knew that when the final hand was dealt America would have no choice but to fold.
I carefully slid down the steep hillside avoiding the trees and stones that hide in the path. It was rather difficult even for me to maneuver it without slipping. I can't imagine anyone surviving it injured. I held tight to the naked branches of the winter trees and made my way to the bottom where the blood trail had finally come to an end.
If America were to slowly die out here in the cold, unable to even call for help, I wouldn't care. Not the slightest but of remorse in my conscience. Even if he had regrets, or final words. I would refuse to carrying out his last wishes, but if I said all this I would be lying. This ache in my chest is that very proof.
In my mind the craziness began to stir but I did my hardest to keep my expression the same collected and cold as I looked down at America. He was curled up with his back against a tree covered by a thin layer of softly fallen snow. He couldn't have bled out, it's too cold for someone to bleed out. The blood should freeze as it hits the snow.
I will say I was unsure whether he was alive or dead, but a strong feeling in my gut told me otherwise. I knew my enemy's well therefore my gut was not wrong.
"Get up".
There was no answer not even the slightest of movement in return.
"I said get up America", I tried again.
It took a few minutes but with the twitch of his fingers America moved his hand, and then sluggishly moved his arm.
"Come on you can move more. I know you can".
America turned his head slowly only moving his eyes to respond to me.
"I'm going to assume you're asking 'why?' since you are unable to speak with your notes. I will answer even though you're just being stubborn. You know the answer just as much as I do. I refused to die like this too, back in my earlier days and I'm very positive you are thinking the same. Now get up".
"....", America withdrew his gaze and looked towards the snow to see all the blood he had spread. He then winced in pain as he began to move his arms eventually getting to his knees. I observed him carefully, standing still and patient. I never left his side until he was able to stand on his own.
On all fours America pushed up on his arms and bent his knees only using the one un-fractured foot as an anchor. His expression was strained, getting to the point of standing was the hardest. In the end I thought he couldn't do it. He fell back to his side again, held his wound tightly, and breathed heavily from the strain.
I was about to just sweep him from under his arm and carry him back home by myself. It would've been easier on him, but after just a short breather America began to rise again. He was able to get his back to slightly lean against the trunk of the tree and then by holding tight to the tree raised himself to stand.
I was amazed and when America stood he glared at me and all I could do was laugh in response.
"Haha~ Here you are practically on your death bed. You can barely stand or breathe and yet you can still give me a look like that".
"..."
"Well then since your standing why don't we be off? It's a pretty long way back to the house", I suggested with a rather joyful sarcastic tone.
As I began to walk off America's determined glare turned into an expression of hopelessness. He looked down at his bloody coat with furrowed eyebrows and began to slide back down the tree.
Before America could reach the ground I quickly scooped him under the shoulder to help support him.
"I got ya...", I mumbled in his ear.
America almost passed out in my arms, but I could feel him grip onto my coat giving me a sign that he was still somewhat conscience. If I made him walk on his own it'd take hours to get back, and he'd probably just die half way there, so I carried him. I held him up as I slowly turned around, and used the support of the tree to lift him onto my back. I leaned more forward so that if his grip failed we wouldn't tumble backwards.
Walking on I couldn't help but want to speak. America's head dangled over my shoulder and I asked "You still there? Not dead yet are you"?
America tightened his grip in response.
"I'm actually kind of glad you didn't die out here. It means I can play with you a little bit longer".
All my efforts would have been wasted if America had died. The pleasure of killing my prey slowly would have been gone, so I'm great full for his determination. I wonder where America received such a strong will? It couldn't have possibly been from England. The only way I've seen America is he's lazy, takes credit from others, and never seems to get his hands dirty. Did he gain it from being raised by England or because he went against him?
I could see the house in the distance and I said, "Okay America lets see who wins at the end of this game".
Carrying America into the house I dropped him onto the couch and went to the bathroom to fill the tub with hot water. When the tub was full enough I carried America and gently placed him in the water. I stopped filling the tub just enough so that it wouldn't cover his face.
America was out in the cold for a couple of hours he's bound to have frost bite and the hot water makes it easier to clean his wounds. I unzipped his coat to inspect his injuries and the one gash on his side was pretty bad. Once the blood vessels had defrosted the blood began to run and the water became murky.
When I tried to wrap America his eyes opened and he began to raise his arms. I laughed at his perseverance, "I'm surprised you're still able to move. Just what exactly are you trying to accomplish"?
America used his finger to write in the mist that stuck to the side of the tub and wrote, ["I need to speak again"]
"Oh I see...", I said as my smile disappeared and I frowned upon America in response.
We countries do not die as ordinary humans. Though dying is still a possibility for us, but if someone were to kill a country in order to end their existence it's virtually impossible. We would just be reborn again but we would never be the same.
America closed his eyes again trying to relax himself and not think about the pain. I leaned forward into the tub covering my face with an ominous shadow to take both hands in attempt to wrap them tightly around his neck and push him under. America and I both knew that the only way to get his voice back was to reset everything.
So this is how it ends huh? Looks like I win America.
I was able to get my fingers around his neck, but before I could push America under he stopped me. He looked at me and he held one of my hands as if he was telling me to wait.
"What is it? You're hesitating now? You want to speak again right? So why are you-"
America slowly lifted his arms shaking as he reached for my face. The tips of his finger were like icicles pinching my cheeks. As he went closer and closer to my face I began to lose it.
"W-wait... stop it..." I pushed on America's shoulders telling him to stop, but he continued to reach almost caressing my face. Nothing was supposed to matter in the end. This all should end with him dead, that's how I planned this, but the more I come in contact with him the more my heart began to race. This feeling, I don't like it, I want it to stop.
The palm of America's hand was almost laid completely on my cheek, but before the exchange of heat could be set I tensed up and shouted "Stop it"!!!
Fearlessly America held both sides of my face and as I stared into his hazy gaze I became lost. He calmly and gently placed his palms over my ears.
What is he doing? What was the point of covering my ears?
Although as I felt America's thin fingers tickle the ends of my hair, it was silent. I couldn't hear anything as if everything around me vanished and I was plunged into a calm darkness.
America's skin was cold but the pulse in his wrist, his slowly beating heart, was warm.
~To Be Continued...