In a living room lit only by the pale glow of a television a hefty cat bats needily at his masters hunched form before giving up to paw at crickets outside the window. His master having not notices his felines pleas for attention pulls the covers closer to his self while staring unseeingly at the TV screen. There is a dull pain growing In Alfred's back and briefly he considers climbing onto the couch behind him but his thoughts draw him back in before he can move.
The news shows a group of people enjoying themselves at a celebrations. That's all that has been on for the past hour but before that...
before for that Alfred was met with a side of his self he'd rather didn't exist.
Terror attacks are really getting people worked up. The first story was about a man whose home was destroyed, if made Alfred laugh a little because the news woman put so much emphasis on the bacon left by the front door. It was just bacon after all, it's not like the guy was forced to eat it.
But as the stories continued Alfred's humor phased into dread, his horror at what his people were capable of, his horror at his self grew with every hateful action. People spitting on someone because of what they wore, broken windows, death threats, lots of stone throwing, physical violence. All of this happening to people who have lived in America for years.
Alfred knew that hate crimes were a thing but he hadn't thought it was so bad in his home. Watching those stories he wanted to cry.
The president is on vacation, at a time like this when the world is smacking Alfred upside the head. He tried to call but after 'ruining' the president's last vacation no one would answer.
Alfred was alone wrapped in a bundle of blankets trembling at how warped the world had become. Or maybe it was always twisted and he'd just never noticed. Seeing how bad things were in his country America decided to see how the rest of the nations were fairing. He truly was a glutton for misery.
His cracked phone on the other side of the room had shown him stories directly form his worst nightmares. Worse than his worse nightmares. The last one he read before hurling the device away was about a group of women taken from their homes. Their names were drawn in a lottery type thing and they were giving to men to be...
Children were there too, they were... raped. Beaten. Many of the girls there died and it was too much for Alfred to take.
It's not right! It's sick and twisted and messed up and every other word having to do with bad and some needed to step in. Someone has to but Alfred really doesn't want to be that person and he couldn't help the small voice that hoped all the ugly nastiness would stay over there in other countries, far away from him.
He felt like a coward but he was scared.
When America pulled out of his thoughts he felt disgusted by the happy people partying on the television. How many people are suffering at the same time they smile?
He stood to turn it off when a loud bang sounded outside his window. Alfred jumped letting out a very loud shriek as he dove for the haven of his covers. After a moment of not being killed he allowed a small opening in the blanket. Wide blue eyes focused on the window where Hamburger was attacking his reflection. The deep nearly black blue of the sky seemed to hold droves of unseen monsters, most of the monsters in America's mind looked too human for comfort. For a long moment nothing happened then there was another loud bang, this time Alfred saw the bright lights that went with it. America crawled cautiously from under his bundle, pressing the power on the TV before walking to stand by the window.
It's new years, he had forgotten in his fear induced panic. The loud bangs are firework not bombs. He'd been in wars he should know the difference. He does know the difference but fear does odd things to what ought to be common sense. Knowing this he still jumped every time a firework went off. Those people, the ones with bombs, surely they couldn't reach him in his own home. What reason would they have to attack his house? The white house would be blown up fist, right?
Hamburger rubbed against his arm and Alfred scratched his furry head idly, encouraging the cat to follow him when he headed for his bedroom. He was so tired and just wanted the night to be over.
His cellphone rang while he was walking up the steps. By the time he remembered that it was still in the living room and grabbed it off the floor the call had gone to voice mail. The article about the tortured women was still up, he closed it pretending he hadn't noticed.
Alfred went up the stairs two at a time, Hamburger at his heels, pulled off his pants deciding to keep his t-shirt on, and tunneled under the bedsheets before checking the caller id. It was England. The clock in the corner read 12:04, officially new years. America appreciated what Arthur would have said but he couldn't call back, not after practically wishing harm on the other nation.
America was ashamed of his peoples behavior and at the same time he couldn't berate them. He couldn't bring his self to completely disagree with what they were doing because he was scared. He was desperately afraid of the small part of him that said this hate is for the best.
America held the end call button until his phone shut down then let the device drop to the floor.
