"Happy birthday to Canada...
Happy birthday to me..."
Sang the boy named Canada.
They forgot.
They forgot him.
The first July is his birthday.
The day on which he got his independence.
The day on which he wants to get noticed.
But nobody's there.
He sits all by himself at the desk, eats cake and stares at the plate.
"..."
His heart is hurt for decades.
But the pain is stronger today.
"...Am I that irrelevant?",
asks Canada himself.
"...What is it that makes me irrelevant, useless, unwanted?"
He was always kind.
Never started a fight.
Always had a smile.
He always did his best.
And yet he was unloved, unneeded.
How often did he wanted to cry and don't pretend to be happy?
How often did he wanted to shout at them?
How often did he wanted aks them if they ignored him on purpose?
How often did he wanted to show his anger?
"..."
England...
He took him away from France.
And bought him to America...
"... america"
He only became invisible due to his brother.
But he didn't hated America.
He couldn't.
Canada was just extremely disappointed.
The 'Hero' claims to save everyone who needs help, although he can't save his brother.
America can't see how much his own brother suffers.
"Maybe he just... doesn't love me"
Canada had to chuckle.
"... Love.."
Love is the word that Canada hadn't heard in a long time.
Love... France...
Canada would never forget how much France loved him when he was little.
He would never forget how happy he has been.
Until...
The memory of England taking him away from France was unforgettable.
He remembered how he begged to stay, cried and screamed.
He loved his père.
".. Père... "
That's french... England used to beat him when he spoke in that language.
He didn't even knew why.
Canada liked french.
He often spoke in french with himself and imagined France talking to him.
The reason for that is, that he never played with England and America.
It's not that he didn't wanted to, they just didn't noticed him.
He was often alone.
But one of the worst things was when he sneaked into Americas room at night. He saw how England used to tell Alfred stories and giving him kisses on the head.
Seeing how England loved America and not him made him feel sick.
Whenever England stood up, Canada ran into his own room and hoped England would tell him stories too.
He heard footsteps.
He always got extremely excited, having a bit of hope.
But... England just walked by, never entered.
Every night was the same.
At some point he gave up.
He didn't expected England to come ever into his room.
So he layed down in his bed and cried.
He cried every night and nobody heard him.
Canada didn't even wanted to go outside of his room.
Only when he became hungry.
He expected to eat the leftovers, but England never took the opportunity to cook for Canada too.
He also came home rarely, leaving those two alone pretty often.
Canada tried in that short period of time to talk to his brother, but America just thought he'd saw a ghost and got scared.
This memory made him chuckle and broke his heart at the same time.
He was really lonely back then.
He's still to this day.
Every year's the same.
".. Why..?", sobbed Canada.
His expression is terrified, sad, angry, nervous... He feels weird.
He grabs the fork and tries to take a piece of the cake, his hands are shaking, but he managed to get what he wants.
He eats the piece of cake, it tastes like nothing, his throat is dry and the sobbing doesn't help.
"Happy birthday... to me
Happy... birthday to... me.. "
He can barely talk, barely breathe.
The room is quiet.
Surprisingly Canada stands up.
".. Sleep...", mumbles he.
Sleep.
He's extremely tired.
"I want.. to.. sleep... only sleep."
His legs feel heavy. His head too.
On the nearby table are letters, which he wanted to send to the others, so they would maybe notice him.
In the end he never send any.
He gave up on ever get noticed.
Now he walked a bit faster.
Under the bed was a little box.
Canada was looking for it.
He sat on the bed, with his little box.
He opened it, seeing family photos and other items from his past.
Seeing those pictures only reminded him on how useless he was, Canada wasn't really shown on those, they didn't cared for him to get on the photos too.
He layed them by side, he was looking for something else.
He was looking for one specific item, and found it.
He took it out of the box, then layed down on the bed so he could see the ceiling.
He felt so different now, not scared, not angry. Rather... happy.
"I want to dream a happy dream... sleep... forever"
He cocked the pistol and hold it against his head.
"Happy birthday to... Canada..."
Tears roll again over his cheeks.
Peng.
"..."
"Ha..py.. Birth... da... to me-"
Sang the boy called Canada.