p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="117c9b748eef7ed8e7fad247342e5afc"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"I was watching this video on youtube when I came up with this story. Highly recomend watching it. /span /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="117c9b748eef7ed8e7fad247342e5afc" watch?v=HvuZXDFDoUQ/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="7c639fe2db7d9b6b5301f47205f5030e"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0bae35e59bcfbd60926bbc00789d397f" It's the American civil war. Alfred fights with the Union, and he is ruthless. He's been able to feel the pain of all the slaves for years, because they are Americans too. He wants nothing more than to free them. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a7959697e15ca54fd048827f0a5d24db" But there's a dark voice in his mind telling him what he knows is wrong. This is the voice of the confederacy. It lives inside of him, corrupting him, eating away at him. He feels the pain of the Union, and the pain of the confederacy. Wounds and scars cover his skin, growing worse with every battle, every loss, on both sides. He wants to get rid of the voice, to keep his nation together, but he can feel the southern states pulling away from him, tearing his body into peices. He walks into his room and pulls out a knife, the one he keeps for times like this, for days like these, for days that be can't handle the pain searing through his stomach. When the fear of being ripped in two has clouded his mind beyond judgement. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="6cb7bcee8e37b9bd83c6cbc623ca5cc6" He cuts along his legs, stabs at his middle, cutting a long, ugly, jagged long across his middle. The blood pours out of him, and he is screaming in his mind, screaming at the voice, screaming for all who have died in this war, where families have been torn apart. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="42c24c616e96a80bb032f7b771c1a308""GET OUT OF MY HEAD" he screams at the confederacy, the voice he has been fighting inside himself for days. He wishes that he was the Union, and only the Union. That he didn't have this voice in his head constantly screaming at him to do what he knows is wrong, that he didn't feel the pain and loss that came with every victory for the northern states. He cries and screams at the top of his lungs, blood rushing out of his self inflicted wounds. He screams so loud he doesn't hear the door opening, doesn't see the other nation walking towards him, eyes too blinded by the tears of sorrow and rage. All he can hear are the screams of terror from the people who have died, all he can hear are the cries of soldiers on both sides watching as the people drop like flies around them, as they go to war against their friends and family, as they look into the eyes of the enemy and realize they are people they recognize. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2912b458ef81aba24cc05b4ab28f8092" The pain cuts deep through him. It is all he can feel. All he can hear. All he can see. Blood is covering his lower half, scars cover his skin in a patchwork of violent reds as his body shakes from the force of his pain, his own personal living nightmare./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="7fc677d810d4d975d60e34cef8b0ef36" I wrap my arms around my brother, and he looks up at me. With his broken body, his shattered eyes, his tattered soul. It's all I can do not to cry, right at that very moment./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c33995a602a23fd9e54ce8e9f3f1b5f7" "C-canada?" he stutters, trying in vain to wipe away the endless stream of tears. I nod, carefully putting my hands on his shoulders, concious that one wrong move could case him even more pain. I knew that I needed to keep it together, but as I looked into his eyes my heart clenched./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="34ca356882792ffcd8856f4f49bb85c5" I had always thought of my brother as strong. Brave. Indestructable. Nothing could get him down, nothing could steal away the hope he's always held onto so dearly. He's always smiles, is always the happy idiot at world meetings, who could hold his own against the other nations. Nothing could take that away from him./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9dd8fe5d965492f9e2a82a8d25e942e9" At least, thats what I always thought./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d70b7f51b60d4bb4fb57d19f15f0c9f8" Lately, he's changed. Everything I thought changed. No one else notices. Or maybe, they all just don't care. Not enough to notice the way his smile faltered. Not enough to realise why he always changed the subject when others brought up the topic of his current war. He always brushed it off, putting up another false smile. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9f98ce0e0fdb42bbe86f165305fadb29" As I looked closer, I saw that the smiling, childish America the world knew was just a carefully made wall, a facade of happiness. I saw how his smile never reached his eyes, that they seemed full of sorrow, as if he were holding back tears. I saw how he squirmed in his seat at meetings, how he flinched away from the touch of others, shying away from any contact with others. How he limped slightly as he walked. That the energy he normally overflowed with had diminished, and became artificial. No one noticed how his mask falls when he thinks no one is watching. The small moments when the facade faltered, and flashes of anger, sorrow, and pain danced across his face. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4e28abe0e771322f9becb0b688c8ece3" But I never could have guessed the awful reality of the situation. As I looked at his blood covered body, eyes puffy, the wall he had carefully crafted to sheild himself from the world crashed to the ground, allowing me to see the true America. One with eyes filled with fear and tears, hatred and anger, pain and suffering. Those same eyes looked up into mine, and it seemed that at that moment, he could no longer take the pain of putting up his facade./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="18e8ef95243b4132410428da0b7b4048" I watched as he collapsed into a fit of sobs, and I wrapping my arms around his dilapidated form as finally, he let go of his emotions, the bottled up sorrow rushing out of his weakened body as he finally allowed himself to give into the need for human contact, for comfort from the pain. We sat like this for hours, until Alfred had let out all he was holding in, sobbing as he revealed everything he had seen in the horrid years of war, everything he had been hiding behind the mask of smiles. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d9fb3e9f0782ccba571401c4d23d3c53" I held him in my arms, horrified at the fact the I had not noticed. Along with all the other nations, I had not seen the effects this war was having on my brother. None of us had bothered to look past the idiot grin, no one cared enough to see the cracks in his facade. I embraced him until he collapsed, exhausted from the physical and mental stress that had been put upon his body. I laid him down on the bed, and tended to his wounds, wrapping them in white gauze. To my horror, i saw that the roll was nearly empty. He had been suffering alone for longer than I even wated to think. The gauze must have been used to cover the numerous blood red marks coating his skin./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="85fd996842059996f68cf8af2c3ad3fb" From then on, I stayed with him. I fought along side him, and behind closed doors, was the only one he trusted to see his scars, along with his tears./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="149080d35d8085570c8d3d668dfbe788" Years later, the civil war is just a memory. America was untied, and rebuilt, making the nation, and Alfred, whole again. He got back on his feet, and was able to truly smile again. He was able to be less gaurded and careful. In the eyes of the world, my brother was back to normal./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="5dd7680f53ee950e3e3699967391a253" In the eyes of the world, however, Alfred had never not been normal. The changes the other nations observed were smile. They had fallen for his facade. In the eyes of the world, America was still the same over excited, happy, loud nation he had always been. But that doesnt make it entirely true. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9fdcd0ea958123c2a4604e51f67c5d53" He still has a thick, jagged scar encircling his stomach, from when he tried to cut himself in two. I'm the only one he's ever allowed to see it, the only one he trusts enough to let down his facade around. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="971122869808565a4f4a7479298c1dcb" You know, he still wears it, the mask of smiles. Yes, he became happier, felt better after the war was over and he was whole again. But he still feels pain. There are still things he worries over, things he hides behind his mask. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="e256c2669d68522167d4af8db13ba722" The difference, however, is now there's me. The only one he trusts to let his walls down around, and allows to see him cry. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="29ef7325f14ea412c304ac2290fe7ca8" And that's not a weakness. If anything, it has only made him stronger./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="f15955af03f61b94ed7fc993d7650c65"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/span/em/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="3bcfc99bf2bd3bf506f0241d78eea4ef"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;""All war are civil wars, because all men are brothers."-Francois Fenelon/span/em/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2301d546051624cda7dd7518f81a0a85"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;" So, um, if you read through all that, thanks. When I came up with this idea, I wanted someone to comfort Alfred, and I chose Canada. Not really sure why...history has shown that Canadians fought on both sides, helping the Union and the confederacy during the war. (I did some research, and articles showed Canadian involvement on both sides of the war) It probably isnt that good...I actually first wrote it as a youtube comment on the video above. I dont know, just kinda inspired me, heh. I've seen many others with there own takes on how the American Civil War would be represented in the Hetalia world, and this is my version of it. Hope you all enjoyed I guess. Bye/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c09974cc7fef3c3040d038cf5787fc32" span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"em style="box-sizing: border-box;" ~L013/em/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d41d8cd98f00b204e9800998ecf8427e" /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="117c9b748eef7ed8e7fad247342e5afc" watch?v=HvuZXDFDoUQ/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="7c639fe2db7d9b6b5301f47205f5030e"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0bae35e59bcfbd60926bbc00789d397f" It's the American civil war. Alfred fights with the Union, and he is ruthless. He's been able to feel the pain of all the slaves for years, because they are Americans too. He wants nothing more than to free them. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a7959697e15ca54fd048827f0a5d24db" But there's a dark voice in his mind telling him what he knows is wrong. This is the voice of the confederacy. It lives inside of him, corrupting him, eating away at him. He feels the pain of the Union, and the pain of the confederacy. Wounds and scars cover his skin, growing worse with every battle, every loss, on both sides. He wants to get rid of the voice, to keep his nation together, but he can feel the southern states pulling away from him, tearing his body into peices. He walks into his room and pulls out a knife, the one he keeps for times like this, for days like these, for days that be can't handle the pain searing through his stomach. When the fear of being ripped in two has clouded his mind beyond judgement. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="6cb7bcee8e37b9bd83c6cbc623ca5cc6" He cuts along his legs, stabs at his middle, cutting a long, ugly, jagged long across his middle. The blood pours out of him, and he is screaming in his mind, screaming at the voice, screaming for all who have died in this war, where families have been torn apart. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="42c24c616e96a80bb032f7b771c1a308""GET OUT OF MY HEAD" he screams at the confederacy, the voice he has been fighting inside himself for days. He wishes that he was the Union, and only the Union. That he didn't have this voice in his head constantly screaming at him to do what he knows is wrong, that he didn't feel the pain and loss that came with every victory for the northern states. He cries and screams at the top of his lungs, blood rushing out of his self inflicted wounds. He screams so loud he doesn't hear the door opening, doesn't see the other nation walking towards him, eyes too blinded by the tears of sorrow and rage. All he can hear are the screams of terror from the people who have died, all he can hear are the cries of soldiers on both sides watching as the people drop like flies around them, as they go to war against their friends and family, as they look into the eyes of the enemy and realize they are people they recognize. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2912b458ef81aba24cc05b4ab28f8092" The pain cuts deep through him. It is all he can feel. All he can hear. All he can see. Blood is covering his lower half, scars cover his skin in a patchwork of violent reds as his body shakes from the force of his pain, his own personal living nightmare./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="7fc677d810d4d975d60e34cef8b0ef36" I wrap my arms around my brother, and he looks up at me. With his broken body, his shattered eyes, his tattered soul. It's all I can do not to cry, right at that very moment./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c33995a602a23fd9e54ce8e9f3f1b5f7" "C-canada?" he stutters, trying in vain to wipe away the endless stream of tears. I nod, carefully putting my hands on his shoulders, concious that one wrong move could case him even more pain. I knew that I needed to keep it together, but as I looked into his eyes my heart clenched./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="34ca356882792ffcd8856f4f49bb85c5" I had always thought of my brother as strong. Brave. Indestructable. Nothing could get him down, nothing could steal away the hope he's always held onto so dearly. He's always smiles, is always the happy idiot at world meetings, who could hold his own against the other nations. Nothing could take that away from him./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9dd8fe5d965492f9e2a82a8d25e942e9" At least, thats what I always thought./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d70b7f51b60d4bb4fb57d19f15f0c9f8" Lately, he's changed. Everything I thought changed. No one else notices. Or maybe, they all just don't care. Not enough to notice the way his smile faltered. Not enough to realise why he always changed the subject when others brought up the topic of his current war. He always brushed it off, putting up another false smile. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9f98ce0e0fdb42bbe86f165305fadb29" As I looked closer, I saw that the smiling, childish America the world knew was just a carefully made wall, a facade of happiness. I saw how his smile never reached his eyes, that they seemed full of sorrow, as if he were holding back tears. I saw how he squirmed in his seat at meetings, how he flinched away from the touch of others, shying away from any contact with others. How he limped slightly as he walked. That the energy he normally overflowed with had diminished, and became artificial. No one noticed how his mask falls when he thinks no one is watching. The small moments when the facade faltered, and flashes of anger, sorrow, and pain danced across his face. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4e28abe0e771322f9becb0b688c8ece3" But I never could have guessed the awful reality of the situation. As I looked at his blood covered body, eyes puffy, the wall he had carefully crafted to sheild himself from the world crashed to the ground, allowing me to see the true America. One with eyes filled with fear and tears, hatred and anger, pain and suffering. Those same eyes looked up into mine, and it seemed that at that moment, he could no longer take the pain of putting up his facade./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="18e8ef95243b4132410428da0b7b4048" I watched as he collapsed into a fit of sobs, and I wrapping my arms around his dilapidated form as finally, he let go of his emotions, the bottled up sorrow rushing out of his weakened body as he finally allowed himself to give into the need for human contact, for comfort from the pain. We sat like this for hours, until Alfred had let out all he was holding in, sobbing as he revealed everything he had seen in the horrid years of war, everything he had been hiding behind the mask of smiles. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d9fb3e9f0782ccba571401c4d23d3c53" I held him in my arms, horrified at the fact the I had not noticed. Along with all the other nations, I had not seen the effects this war was having on my brother. None of us had bothered to look past the idiot grin, no one cared enough to see the cracks in his facade. I embraced him until he collapsed, exhausted from the physical and mental stress that had been put upon his body. I laid him down on the bed, and tended to his wounds, wrapping them in white gauze. To my horror, i saw that the roll was nearly empty. He had been suffering alone for longer than I even wated to think. The gauze must have been used to cover the numerous blood red marks coating his skin./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="85fd996842059996f68cf8af2c3ad3fb" From then on, I stayed with him. I fought along side him, and behind closed doors, was the only one he trusted to see his scars, along with his tears./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="149080d35d8085570c8d3d668dfbe788" Years later, the civil war is just a memory. America was untied, and rebuilt, making the nation, and Alfred, whole again. He got back on his feet, and was able to truly smile again. He was able to be less gaurded and careful. In the eyes of the world, my brother was back to normal./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="5dd7680f53ee950e3e3699967391a253" In the eyes of the world, however, Alfred had never not been normal. The changes the other nations observed were smile. They had fallen for his facade. In the eyes of the world, America was still the same over excited, happy, loud nation he had always been. But that doesnt make it entirely true. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9fdcd0ea958123c2a4604e51f67c5d53" He still has a thick, jagged scar encircling his stomach, from when he tried to cut himself in two. I'm the only one he's ever allowed to see it, the only one he trusts enough to let down his facade around. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="971122869808565a4f4a7479298c1dcb" You know, he still wears it, the mask of smiles. Yes, he became happier, felt better after the war was over and he was whole again. But he still feels pain. There are still things he worries over, things he hides behind his mask. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="e256c2669d68522167d4af8db13ba722" The difference, however, is now there's me. The only one he trusts to let his walls down around, and allows to see him cry. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="29ef7325f14ea412c304ac2290fe7ca8" And that's not a weakness. If anything, it has only made him stronger./p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="f15955af03f61b94ed7fc993d7650c65"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/span/em/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555; text-align: center;" data-p-id="3bcfc99bf2bd3bf506f0241d78eea4ef"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;""All war are civil wars, because all men are brothers."-Francois Fenelon/span/em/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2301d546051624cda7dd7518f81a0a85"span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;" So, um, if you read through all that, thanks. When I came up with this idea, I wanted someone to comfort Alfred, and I chose Canada. Not really sure why...history has shown that Canadians fought on both sides, helping the Union and the confederacy during the war. (I did some research, and articles showed Canadian involvement on both sides of the war) It probably isnt that good...I actually first wrote it as a youtube comment on the video above. I dont know, just kinda inspired me, heh. I've seen many others with there own takes on how the American Civil War would be represented in the Hetalia world, and this is my version of it. Hope you all enjoyed I guess. Bye/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c09974cc7fef3c3040d038cf5787fc32" span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold;"em style="box-sizing: border-box;" ~L013/em/span/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d41d8cd98f00b204e9800998ecf8427e" /p