In a world...
... in a world where the world has ended...
... America and I are the only ones left. We salvage as much supplies as we can, but not much is of good enough quality to keep the two of us alive.
See, we used to be immortal. Me, and my brothers, and everyone, we all used to be immortal, making our mark on history since... I can't really remember...
But something happened, neither America nor I can remember, which stole everything and everyone we held dear. Our lands were lost, forcing us all to live on borrowed time. One by one, they all fell into a deep, deep, sleep. The two of us are the only humans left, but that won't last forever.
There's barely any food or water that survived the apocalypse, and shelter's hard to find when you can find no buildings that haven't crumbled.
It's been months since it took the world from us, and we've struggled since. Every night we go to sleep parched and hungry. I've gotten wounds from aftershocks and... other incidents. See, some nights I start to question why we even try anymore, we're just going to die eventually. My over-thinking has led me to attempt suicide multiple times, trying to cut short my misery.
And time and time again America's had to save me and remind me again why we have to keep going.
"If we keep looking, we can find something to revive the world, and everyone can come back to us." Yes, I know, it's a far-fetched goal, but at this point, I'll do anything to see everyone else again.

Here I sit. We're somewhere in what's left of Europe. We were visiting France and England when it happened. I'm at our little base camp, silently waiting for America to return.
I study my surroundings. All I can see in every direction is destroyed building after destroyed building. Rubble everywhere. The sky is a grey-ish orange, and the sun is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind the thick, dark clouds. I can smell rotting bodies. There's an uncomfortable silence bearing down on me, yet I hear a deep, rumbling groan from somewhere, almost mechanical. The stench is horrible, it burns my nose, but I have to deal with it.
The only comforting sight or smell is the pile of food stacked on the table across form where I sit. I stare longingly at the food, and my stomach grumbles loudly in anticipation, but I can't eat it right now. I haven't eaten in days, and America told me we could eat today, but I have to wait until he returns.
Right now he is searching for that "thing" that can help us revive the world. He's so eager to find it, and I support him all the way. But I'm too weak to help him. While the food situation must be harder on him, since he ate all the time before the apocalypse, the toll on me is greater, and I've found myself weak, sick, hungry, parched, and exhausted. It hurts a lot, but what hurts the most is my longing.
I want things to go back to the way they were. Sure, my life had problems. I was always ignored, invisible, mistaken for my brother, but I had friends. I had family. And, whether they saw me or not, they cared about me. And now America's the only one I have left. And I feel lonelier than I've ever been.
"Yo! Canada!"
I stand up and turn. America's running, waving his arms frantically, with a wide-eyed look on his face. It's surprising how much energy he has, considering the circumstances. But I don't question it. One of us needs to be strong enough to look for food, water, shelter, and all that.
"America," I say, "you're back. Did you find anything? More food? More water? Oh! Can we eat now? I'm so hungry.."
"Calm down, bro," he laughs, "I just got here. Ya gotta let me catch my breath first."
"But can we?" I ask.
America plops himself down on the nearest chair, taking in deep breaths. "Sure!" he says through gasps.
I grin and reach for an apple on the table. The taste is heavenly, and I feel more and more satisfied with each bite. Simple pleasures like this make the whole struggle worthwhile, or at least it does for the moment. I know that as soon as I eat the amount America will allow me to eat, I won't be able to eat anything for the next few days. We can drink water whenever we want, but the food we have to salvage.
"So," I ask as soon as I finish my apple and reach for a packaged sandwich, "why were you running? Walking would have saved you energy."
"Oh! About that," he says with a grin, "I was excited, and I wanted to get to you as soon as possible."
I tilt my head. "Excited? About what? Did you find it?"
"No." The hope I built up diminishes. "But I did find something better."
"Really?" I say. I want to smile, but I don't know yet what he's found.
"There's a big, dark, town, it's a place I found," he begins. I scooch closer. A town?
I frown. "A town, America? What's so special about a town? Unless it has the supplies we need-"
"It does, though!" He butts in. He grabs my bruised arms and pulls me close to him. Our faces are only a few inches apart. "But that's not the best part. What if I told you I found our friends?"