This is just a small Creative Writing project I had. We were supposed to do an anonymous exchange of papers with people and have them grade ours. I hope you enjoy. :)
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A gray world, a bleak past, a desolate future.
Everything gone.
Nothing left, but an endless abyss, plunging whoever dared to go near enough into endless blackness.
The once vibrant flowers of the world, shriveled up, dead.
No one to got to, to care about; or so Alfred thought.
He stared out the window, one knee pulled up to his chest. Dirty glasses slowly slid down the bridge of his nose as his head drooped. The bright blue eyes that once shone upon his face, now listless and blank.
His gaze never left the window, though he stared at nothing in particular, his eyes long blinded to the world he thought he had known so well.
He recalled as much as he could about himself.
Always so curious, cheerful.
Not anymore.
Or maybe he never was.
Maybe even himself was a lie, like the world that surrounded him.
He decided with a slow nod of his head, that that was the truth. Everything that exists is just a lie, nothing is real anymore.
Turning his head mechanically to the desk in his room, Alfred gazed at the paperwork piled onto the desk.
A frown overtook his face, pulling it downward.
There once was a time you'd never even think a frown could collect on the face of this young man.
No, that was a lie too.
He was never really happy, he just though he was.
Slowly pulling himself upward, Alfred dragged himself over to his desk, settling himself in front of the pile of documents. With a long, ragged sigh, he pulled out a pen, and did what was expected of him.
Expected of him.
Expected.
"Everyone always expects so much!" he hissed through his teeth, slamming the pen down, the force of the impact leaving a dent in the old wooden desk.
It was as though everything was expectant upon him; like the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders.
"But that's what heroes do," he used to try to reason with himself.
But not anymore.
He wasn't a hero. Both him, and the other countries knew it.
No matter how he tried to help others, all those efforts were thrown back in his face. The other countries begged for his help, needing his power. But as soon as he swooped in to save them, he was criticized and disliked.
What was he supposed to do...?
Alfred snapped back into reality, releasing the tight grip on the papers he never realized he was holding.
Rubbing his temples to calm himself down for a moment, he picked up the pen once more.
He would finish this paperwork.
He would go to the world meetings.
He would take the insults thrown his way.
He would continue to help the other countries, though he himself was buried in debt.
But what killed him the most, was the goofy smile he'd plaster onto his face every single day.
He'd pretend to be happy, pretend that everything was okay.
Because that was what was expected of him int his colorless, vacant world.
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And that's it! ^_^I just love angsty America. XD I changed a fair portion from the draft I actually turned in. I'm not sure yet, but I feel I can go farther with this story, I just don't know where to go yet.
What do you guys think? Maybe I can make it into a few chapters? I'm not sure yet. :)
Also! If you see any grammatical/spelling mistakes, let me know! I'm a bit of a grammar nazi, and want this as correct as possible. Don't be afraid to point out any and every flaw in this story! :D