I was not having a good day.
Not at all.
I didn't even really want to think about it.
The night had finally fallen over my strange little house with murals painted on it. I'm guessing I am rather talented and I had painted icy plains, wide prairies and dense forest. Of course, in the past when I had painted it, my fathers had not approved. I pretended that he had gotten rid of the murals for a long time, but now it didn't even matter. If my fathers were to come over, it would definitely provoke a strange conversation. I'm the kind of guy who likes to keep to himself. At the same time, I do not like the idea of being ignored and wanted to be known for something, as least once!
I leaned back in my chair, clutching a cold beer. I sighed and stared at the forest wall, past the TV screen that was showing commercials at the moment. My eyes followed the swooping lines and his drab, dreary and pale face lit up only slightly before falling back into darkness. I took another swig of beer and slumped further into his chair.
There was a sudden wrapping at the door that made me jitter.
"Come in..." I called in my odd weak voice. I had had it since he was little, like I choked on each word he said. Once I was criticised of sounding boring because of it, and awkward because whenever I wanted to yell, he ended up whisper-yelling instead. I don't really think about it anymore. It's just a fact of life. The door swung open and slammed against the wall like a cannon ball, making the frames hung up on the wall rattle and the carved totem poles in the corners of the room toddle.
"BRO!" my borderline identical brother called out and came loudly crashing into his house, trailing mud behind him from the rainstorm outside. His hair was wet down and his clothing was drenched and when he moved, beads of water flew off of him in sparkles of fairy dust. I stared at him, in slight shock, because his abrupt entrance had almost made me crash my fingers through the glass of the beer bottle. That could have hurt!
"What is it?" I tried to ask somewhat assertivly for once, but his awkward entrance made my voice squeak again.
"OH MY GOSH!" he yelled. "Its totally AWESOME bro!"
"What? What is it?" I asked, trying to project over his own excitable voice.
He raised a hand dramatically and reached into his satchel with a glint of his glasses and pulled out a bottle of beer.
"AN AMERICAN BEER THAT DOESN'T TASTE LIKE CRAP!" he boasted, waving the bottle around. "Catch!" He cried instantly, throwing the bottle up in the air. I let out a cry and placed my bottle down on the table next to me, right on the coaster. Something I prided myself of was my good co-ordination, from all of the hockey practise I have done. I reached up and caught the bottle out of the air, but it nearly slipped through my fingers because it was wet from condensation. I held the bottle up to the light.
"Well it looks okay..." I muttered, looking over at my brother through the cloudy drink. It was a bit of an odd colour though...I was praying to high heaven that it wasn't piss.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Taste some!" he demanded, beginning to advance on me. I was going to pop the bottle cap off and step back when his hand grabbed my elbow and he forced the bottle into my mouth. I don't know what was going through my head at the moment, but a I took a gulp of it.
It was positively disgusting.
Then again, leave it to my brother to enjoy something like that. Only a week ago, he came crashing into my house to tell me about deep fried hamburgers wrapped in pizza and deep-fried again. I feel weak to say I wanted to out-right vomit at the thought of it. Of course, I can't mess with my brother in any incidence, so a took a shaky swallow of it. Well, it wasn't urine...definitely tasted like beer...to an extent that is...I pulled the neck of the bottle out of my mouth because it was going to activate my gag reflex.
"It's...good..." I forced, hoping that would please him enough...he had inherited those irritable traits from Arthur...
"SWEET!" He laughed and pushed my elbow up and; before I could protest, the bottle back into my mouth. "Now you have to drink the rest, bro!"
I really wanted to tell him that it was my second bottle and REALLY wasn't a good idea, because I had a comedy show to go to in the morning tomorrow. If I had to go to it hung-over...
I just stood there though. Because I really didn't care anymore...
Finally the bottle was drained and I could finally BREATHE again. My brother took the bottle away from my mouth and smashed against the floor with an excited whoop. I flinched.
"I beat you brother! It's better than your beer, isn't it?" he persisted, punching my shoulder.
"Maple..." I whimpered. "I was already having a bottle of beer..." I commented, rather than answer his question.
"Whoa, really bro?" He asked with wide eyes. What was he so surprised about. He laughed again. "Dude, its like we share a brain or somthing! I mean, it can't be a coincidence that we were BOTH drinking beer!"
Last time I checked, I was the only one drinking any. But that comment...about sharing a brain...
I could tell that the colour had drained out of my face, because I suddenly felt stone cold. I gave off a strangled "Maple" again, rather than swearing. It took all my will-power not to start shrieking, but maybe it was my beer buzz. Me? Being anything like AMERICA? That did not sound possible! I mean, although people always tended to mistake the both of us; usually calling ME America...no. Just no.
"You okay bro?" I heard him ask through the veil of my thoughts. I jumped slightly again.
"Oh no! I mean, yes...I'm fine brother, really...!" I gave off a nervous laugh. He asked something off topic.
"Hey bro, is it okay if I bunk here tonight?" he asked, slauntering across the room and collapsing into a kitchen chair. I saw his feet rise up onto the table. They might have well been the morning sun. Except the "morning sun" did not drip with mud and rain.
"Oh...I guess..." I said quietly. "But not in my bed please..."
"Why not?" he countered. "Were both brothers!"
Don't remind me, I thought.
To be perfectly I honest, I wanted to whisper that he still sort of scared me...
"No brother...please...I have a nice comfy futon you can-" I stopped talking when I realised he wasn't listening and had stood up in front of the fridge.
"Aw man! I am starved!" He commented, jerking the fridge open.
I knew my brother all too well and that he always drained out things he didn't want to hear. He was constantly ignoring everyone.
Admittedly, I was ready to cry but instead I just let him do what he wanted to do, smiling awkwardly, even though I wasn't happy.
Out of the corner of my eye, he was piling up food in his hands out of the fridge. Some of that stuff was special! Netherlands had given me some nice Edam cheese. I was going to have it for lunch tomorrow. But I suppose that was okay. He could always bring some more next time he visits. I was actually starting to miss him, even if it had only been a few days ago that I saw him again. But BEFORE that, it had been literal months.
I didn't bother telling my brother that I was going to bed; he was too busy wolfing down most of the food in my fridge, like he usually did when he visits. I considered getting a second fridge to keep downstairs and stock this one up just for him. What he enjoys the most is the maple syrup and he puts it on LITERALLY everything. I hide most of my bottles and keep only one upstairs. Same goes for the beer.
I realised only now as I rose up the stairs how heavy my feet felt. I tried to ignore the fact that I might stumble and be dragged down the stairs by my lead feet. Thankfully, I made it to the top safely and went into my room.
I keep it fairly clean in here, when I can. I'm probably not the tidiest guy, but most things here have a place and that is where they are taken from and eventually go back to. I have a few more totem poles in here, because I love them. The beautiful carvings, the interesting patterns. Everything about them is something I love to represent myself with, despite my European decent. There is of course some speculation that I was discovered but something else, but the main country that raised me was Great Britain, Arthur... He never let Francis have much time with me and they always argued over me. I know a problem as old as this should be at the back of my mind at this time, but things tend to surface when you are feeling stressed.
I found my pyjamas as usual, folded up and siting neatly on my pillow. They are the soft ones with little maple leafs on them that I always wear during the winter because I tend to miss those beautiful red leaves and they are really warm and comfortable. My polar bear friend, Kumajirou had already gone to sleep hours ago. Its hibernation time for them, so he tends to go to sleep earlier and when I carry him around, like he always wants me to do, he falls asleep in my arms and heats up like a cup of hot-chocolate right out of the brewer.
Although I was feeling really tired, I had to be sure of a few things. Number 1; that my door was locked so my brother couldn't invade. Number 2; that the heating wasn't up too high because I was trying to conserve energy under all the pressure I was in in the first place. Not that I would ever not want to support the environment. I was after all trying my best...and Number 3, I had to be sure that I had brushed my teeth and gotten washed up so I wouldn't look like a total mess in the morning, but above all, it was just more comfortable to sleep when I was nice and clean.
Okay, first thing, door locked, check. Key put into pyjama pocket, check. I turned the dial on the thermostat and put the heat down a little. I was going to be pretty warm in bed anyways, with my pyjamas and the heavy quilt we had all sewn as a family many years ago, to celebrate our great achievement. I still feel really bad about it...when I see the other ones that we beat. But the tensions aren't even really high anymore. Final thing on the list was getting washed up, so I dragged myself to the bathroom door and stepped inside. The rain pattered against the window, turning into wet snow and swirling in endless circles. I looked over at the mirror and frowned at myself. The person staring back at me seemed so elderly, so tired and un-dead. It couldn't possibly be me, but I recognised the same bright eyes that looked across the prairies and out across the see. They had gotten no dimmer, even in the midst of battle. Or perhaps not. I honestly couldn't
tell. I picked up my toothbrush as my mind wandered. Of course, the top thing I didn't want to think of was my resemblance to my brother. Even now, I was becoming SO much like him it was scaring me. Even if we did act different, I was developing some of his tendencies. Now, I can't really judge my brother; he tries his best and has his great aspects. Like he says, he's a hero, but if he thinks he is better than everyone, he is sadly mistaken.
I streaked the tooth-paste across the bristle.
For people to associate both of us, it makes me really upset and I think my brother should probably care more. A long time ago when I was little, he tried to have me join him in his country but I was able to avoid him. I reasoned with him and I think that we were even enough. But that new thing that everyone is bragging about and making a big solemn completion of it, the whole thing with the environment, I was as bad as he was! I mean, he is sort of trying but sometimes I have to remind him to recycle and compost...not that he usually eats much that requires either. And now, because I'm having trouble with it, the other guys are hounding me, even my father! But I'm not going to think about it...and I am not going to cut my hair. If I cut it, it will look just like my brother and people will think I'm a clone. What they are is BLIND. All BLIND.
Suddenly I scream because I see something in the mirror behind me. I whip my head back and look behind me. No one is there. I'm a reasonable person but I actually DO believe in ghosts. There is enough to support their existence and I am standing by it!
"In here mon cheri." I hear a mocking voice and I look back into the mirror at a face staring back at me. Now, I am really confused. I have no idea who this person is, or if they exist but I can't control myself and I stumble screaming out of the bathroom and crash into the front of the bed. The room spins. I am really clumsy. As I look up weakly, my head is church bell, ringing out but no-one can hear it, except for me. So I look up, and I see him again. I'm pretty sure he's an illusion. But the shiver going down my spine tells me he isn't.
"F-francis?" I ask, choking and frozen with fear. I shudder and stare at the figure with wide eyes but I can clearly see a curl bob and I realise that who I am looking at could very well be me.
"Non, idiot! Don't you know Quebec when you see him?" The voice asked again. He definitely had a French accent.
"Qu-quit pulling my leg Francis!" I stammer. "I know it's you."
At this point, I'm in denial. I seriously am. This doesn't make sense! I am Canada, I don't have any other countries with me. There is America, Mexico and Cuba. Maybe someone else; I'm not even thinking straight. Then again, I did remember some speculation about this "imaginary country", but I'm pretty sure he doesn't exist and if he does, does that mean he's my SON? Quebec had never existed, as a country, as far as I was concerned. Yes, he has to be Francis.
"I am not France." he replied simply. I watched him lean into the light and stare at me with speculation. His hair was a blondish red. Rather sandy in colour. "Don't make that mistake. I am Quebec."
"But you aren't a country!" I protest, whining. Why is this happening?
He suddenly gets all aggressive and leans forward further until our noses are touching and I can see every aspect of him. His is wearing shades; probably prescription, and his breath smells like cigarettes and beer. It curls into my nose and I am tempted to cough, or do anything at all, but I hold my breath and stare into his shades. I have to admit, I am guilty of smoking a bit, but only every once and while and I am trying to reduce that.
"If you really are a country, shouldn't you be younger?" I ask finally, only considering for a moment the possibility that his guy is actually real and not some prank that Alfred had planned. It didn't make sense, because in theory, Quebec would have to be a part of myself, like how America's glasses were Texas and his-oh...I'm not going to mention Florida..
"Looking for these?" I hear him ask and he holds up my glasses. My glasses! I was wondering why everything was so fuzzy. I had left them in the bathroom beside the sink. Then he finally answers my question.
"I'm not young, because I've always been around, Mattie. And you know what?"
"What?" I whimper, getting a seriously bad thought about this.
He turns his head to the side and moves his mouth over to my ear. I can hear his breath hissing in my ear, whistling in my ear-drum.
"I don't like you." I hear him whisper. His voice sounds vengeful and frightening. It makes my nerves prickle and my hands shake even more.
He pulls away with satisfaction.
"It's too late for you, cause I'm already a country. I have my own government and one day, I'm going to take you over." Quebec threatens, starting to laugh.
I finally loose it.
"ALFREDDDD!" I scream at the top of my lungs.
In a few moments, I hear a loud thumping come up the stairs like a group of charging moose and Alfred crashes right through my maple-wood door, showering my dopple- ganger and I with splinters.
"What's wrong bro?" He asks franticly, and I can tell his mouth is full because his voice is hardly audible and his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk's.
"Alfred, it's terrible!" I pay no mind to the door, although that will probably take some money to replace. "Quebec, he-"
"Dude, who is Quebec?" He asks, laughing, and cutting me off.
"One of my provinces he-" I continue, my words tumbling over one another and being halted again by his interruption.
"Dude, what's a province?" He asks another question and finally swallows a great deal of the food he was chewing.
"It's like a state!" I say desperately. "And he says he's a country and he says-"
It's my turn to cut myself off because I realise that Quebec is no longer here, just my glasses, sitting on the bed, reflecting my shocked expression.
I fall completely silent. Alfred looks at me expectantly, but I lower my head so I don't have to look at him.
"Never-mind..." I muttered, getting embarrassed again. It's a feeling that makes me feel queasy. Something hard slams into my shoulder and I jump, only to realise that Alfred was giving me a hearty pat on the shoulder. Bro love...it's enough to kill you, or at least make you piss yourself.
"You really can't handle alcohol well, can you?" He asks with humour in his voice.
"I can to handle my alcohol well!" I yell at him. What does he know!
He laughs again "oh, sure!" he says in his most sarcastic voice possible. I REALLY want to hit him right now, but he'll probably pin me to the ground and I won't be able to get up in the morning. He's REALLY heavy, and sometimes he sits on me. I remember hardly being able to breathe when he does that.
"Maple..." I sigh, finally giving up. But just to brush him off, I'm not going to answer him. Getting into some sort of pub-brawl is exactly what he or Arthur, or ANYONE else I'm realated to would do. If the alcohol kicks in now, I'm doomed.
I turn around and get down on all fours to crawl around and onto the bed. I get under the covers and let out a shaky sigh, burrowing my face into the pillow.
Go away, go away, go away, go away...I'm thinking to myself, aiming my super powered "Go away rays" at Alfred.
WHUMP.
The mattress jumps up into the air and up up up I go with it, screaming at the top of my lungs. The world slams back down and I can hear the totem poles wobble on the floor. My entire body is in tremors and the covers are all messed up now. I'll have to get out of bed and re-do my hospital corners. But then I realise why the mattress took its "leap of faith" in the first place. I realised a body was pressed up against me, because Alfred is a TOTAL BED HOG. It occurs to me;
Alfred...
ALFRED.
"ALFRED!" I scream in protest, and my voice sounds squeaky because I am still freaking out.
He just starts laughing and turns out the bedside lamp, leaning his arm wayyy over me and getting his armpit in my face.
"Nighty Night brother!" he says with glee and lies back down, still laughing at his jokes.
I grasp the comforter and pull it over my face. Why me...why me...?
I don't know if I can trust him. I have to stay awake, so he doesn't draw a mustache on my face and call me a frenchie or play that prank that makes you wet the bed or even something stupid like putting whoopee cushions all over the floor. I don't think he understands how LETHAL those things are. The last time he did that prank, I tripped on one of them and flew into the wall, slamming my face, getting a nosebleed and breaking my glasses. They took an entire week to fix! But the worst possible thing he could do is a NEW prank. I hate to say it, but my brother is really smart in most respects, he just jumps to conclusions and has really...odd ideas. Expensive ideas.
Suddenly I feel his arms around me, and i don't know WHY or HOW, but my face heats up. His snoring thrums in my ears. The big galoof is asleep. And he's bear-hugging me. Also known as SUFFOCATING ME. I know it was hopeless, but I let out a hoarse. "Heeeeelppppp...!" but of course no-one is around. That is probably my oxygen deprived brain talking right there.
What a nightmare!
Against my own will, everything goes fuzzy and the cushion, mattress, sheets and his arms slip from my vision as I fall into suffocating darkness...