America took a long drag of his cigarette.

He was outside of the building the nations had their meetings in, leaning against the back wall. A cold wind blew against him. He tugged his bomber jacket closer to his body, shivering a little. America had never liked winter. It was dark and chilly and it fucked up his sense of time. Still, America had the decency to smoke outside. Besides, he liked to relax when he smoked. And it was best to do that alone. He slid down the wall to sit down.

He looked at his watch. 7:30. Half an hour before the meeting. America had gotten here two hours early, and he really wasn't sure why. He hated meetings. God, why didn't he just leave everyone alone? Why was he so concerned with everybody else? America didn't know anymore...

Pulling his cigarette out of his mouth for a second, he blew out hazy stream of smoke. He remembered seeing England blow a smoke ring once, and how impressed he was. He remembered begging the older nation to teach it to him, and how UK refused.

America returned his cigarette to its former place and ran a hand through his hair. When talking with the other nations, or anybody really, he tried to be that delightfully happy young man that everybody knew. He didn't have to try, really, because that's who he was. Optimistic, patriotic, and willing to look towards the future. That was America. That's what made him American. America wasn't as violent as other nations when it came to politics- but with many people came many views. If one dug deeper they found themselves amidst the chaos of the American system.

Lawsuits here, protests there, mixed in a melting pot that wasn't quite melted. Prejudice and power and corruption, tricking down, down, down, gas prices go up and people notice but when they're cheap nobody cares anymore. He watched the people scurry like a dysfunctional ant farm, like something that was supposed to be an angel but got broken along the way. America used to scream when the different colors of the world melted with him. Everything tried to be the same color in that big melting pot, but the world didn't work like that.

Dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground he took out another. How many had he gone through now? Chain-smoking is a bad habit, America thought. He really should stop...

America watched the colors of everything envelop him, and would like to think he's high instead of imagining it himself. Isolationist, capitalist, communist, democracy, what did those words mean again? Gray eyes watched the sky; they used to be blue eyes, didn't they? Maybe they still were, and maybe the monsters inside him would stop screeching someday.

"But we both know that isn't going to happen," America mumbled.

There's screaming and protesting on the streets as a fight breaks out, a war breaks out inside as he fights ten versions of himself while trying to protect everyone from the bombs everyone has. Everybody he knows, everybody he loves, being a country was so hard did they really expect him to-

"Alfred?"

America snapped out of his muddled thoughts. England peeked out the back door.

"The meeting is starting in fifteen minutes, you should come in."

"Haha, I'll be there Arthur, don't worry!"

America put on his biggest grin, trying to act like a fool so England would leave him to his thoughts. But England knew better. The flickering lamps highlighted the seemingly permanent bags under America's eyes. It revealed how pale the younger nation's face had become. He wasn't ready to become a country, England thought to himself. He wanted to ask America what kept him up every night, but England held his tongue. If America was going to be a nation, he was going to figure it out, alone, just like everybody else. He brought it upon himself, after all. England shut the door.

America blew a smoke ring into the air.


A/N: Um yeah. I don't know what this is. Reviews and flames and critiques are all wonderful :3 Also I changed tenses when I edited it so tell me if there's any errors lol.