All was suspiciously quiet in America's interrogation room. Mexico had not washed her clothes in a number of days despite living near a clear, flowing stream in the back woods. The fluorescent light kept flickering above her to the point where she expected it to malfunction even during times when the light was stable. She was shaking slightly from the shock of being caught red-handed and she eagerly awaited her fate.
"How long has she been illegally living on America's property?" asked Canada as he was looking at her through the interrogation room's window. England leaned against the wall in a way where anyone can easily imagine a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He darted his eyes across the room pretending to ignore Canada and Cuba's conversation.
"Five days," said Cuba, "Or at least that's what she told me."
"I don't mean to play the devil's advocate, but who could blame her? She wanted a better life for herself and we tend to do crazy things when we fall in love with a person who repeatedly turns down our advances." Cuba developed a distraught look at Canada's argument.
"I never wanted my sister to marry that idiot. She knows very well what happened between her and America so many years ago."
"That's the thing: She claims that she doesn't." Canada waited patiently as he heard footsteps coming down the well-carpeted hallway. America came into sight with a little, white box that was neatly sealed shut with masking tape. He had a positive look on his face, like he usually did. "What do you have there, America?"
"It's a hypno-thingy," replied America, being uber-specific, "The people of my country are always willing to try new methods of therapy and this one may just work."
"That's because the people of your nation are a bunch of crazy gits," commented England.
"I've had that girl deported more times than I could count."
"Which is to say not that much." England had all of his snarky remarks reserved for his special little brother.
"That is why I've decided that, instead of deporting her, I'm going to make her WANT to be deported."
"How?" asked Cuba, "By making her watch Michael Moore movies?"
"Of course not, you commie bastard. I'm going to get those repressed memories out into the open using this special form of therapy." By now, the other nations were willing to try anything new. Mexico was just so resilient and lovesick, not to mention poverty-stricken. Not even the million-dollar maximum-security wall that was enacted around America's property could keep her out. A million dollars? Just for a fancy security system? Just for one "threat?" We never said that America spent his wads of cash wisely.
Mexico turned her head quickly as the doorknob slowly turned. The four young men walked inside with America leading. All of a sudden, Mexico became more aware of her breathing, especially since she reached the height of her anxiety. She held her rosary beads close as she starred up at her captors, almost popping them off of the necklace.
"Are… are you going to put me in jail?" she asked.
"Don't worry," said America, "You're going to be just fine. In fact, you'll probably like what we're about to do to you." Needless to say, when Mexico's heard those words coming out of the mouth of her true love, she started getting confused… and slightly aroused. But mostly confused. America opened the tiny, white box and pulled out a round, glass charm hanging from a string. It was so delicate that even looking at it funny would cause cracks to form on its surface.
"Don't worry, sis," assured Cuba as he rested his hand on Mexico's weary shoulder, "If this idiot does any funny business to you, I'll sock him in the puss." Mexico turned her eyes away from her brother and the hospital-white walls and paid attention to the swinging glass charm.
"You are getting very sleepy…" Mexico had already felt exhausted from all of the running she did that morning. This quack practice (or at least some of the nations thought so) further exasperated her exhaustion, or at least it seemed like it. Indeed, her eyelids became heavier and heavier as the pendulum's predictable movements continued. "Your forgotten memories as slowly reforming, slowly returning." Soon, Mexico fell asleep sitting straight up in her chair.
The big system that was her mind was doing a search in the hard drive that was her memory. It searched thoroughly for a couple of minutes until it indeed found some missing files, ones that hadn't felt the double click of a mouse in quite a while. It was time to click these icons after so many years, time to see what was once seen through her eyes.
Now we can stop with the computer-related metaphors and start with the replaying of Mexico's repressed memory.