There were many reasons Alfred didn't feel like waking up today. Today was just the day that eleven years ago, everything he had ever stood for was completely tarnished. He couldn't be the hero. He had failed.
This day was always filled with sympathy and heartache from other nations. Calling or coming over to express their complete and utter regret over what had happened that day. But as time passed, so did everyones remeberance, their hope. Being replaced by a new generation of fears, and dreams, September 11, 2001 was soon fading into memory, yet the scars never faded. They never would.
Alfred remembered the day unlike any other. He was in the White House watching t.v.
…..
The pain hit him, hard. He didn't know what was happening. He could hear the screams in his head, the sheer terror, the smell. The smell got him. The thick smoke, the burns, the pain. He could hear that the t.v. had switched stations, and could only make out that the reporter had said something about World Trade Center, and a plane.
'No, not this, not now,' Alfred thought. Just as he was about to get up he fell again, only to realize another plane had hit the other tower. This wasn't an accident anymore, not some fluke by some inexperienced piolet. This was an attack. On him.
Through the pain, the smoke, and the screams that would not go away, he could feel people around him, picking him up trying to move him to the safe zone. Then the Pentagon got hit, and this time Alfred blacked out.
He was in a hospital bed, with bandeges head to toe. He had slept the remainder of the day in nightmares. He checked his phone. Over 134 messages and 120 missed calls. Alfred started with the first voice mail, it was the first call made to him after the attack.
"Yes, Alfred da? Are you okay? Well of course your not. Look I know we have had some difficult times but, please sunflower lets put that aside for now. I express my deepest sympathy for you and your people. Russia and America will unite in effort to find the person that did this. Please get well my beautiful sunflower."
…
Russia had been the first to call that day. He called before England, called before Japan. Russia was the first one.
It soon became a tradition, every year Alfred would wake early in the morning sometimes it was even 12:00 A.M. to Ivan calling on the phone asking if he was okay. Sometimes Ivan would avoid the topic completely in order to save the American some pain, and they would just make small talk.
This year however, the Russian did not call, and Alfred was feeling down. Maybe Ivan's memory of that day was also fading. Maybe Alfred would soon be the only one to remember this day.
A knock on the door shoock alfred out of his thoughts. How did anyone know he was here? This was his private home in Washington State. He told everyone he was staying in New York.
Alfred got up, and slipped on his bomber jacket, running a hand through his ruffled hair, and putting his glasses on his face. He went to the door and opened it. Standing there was Ivan, with a big bouquet of sunflowers, he was wearing his trademark scarf and coat. His violet eyes met Alfreds blue ones. "I figured this time I would do it right. You don't deserve to be alone today. Ive expressed my condolences, now let me show them da."
Alfred ran down and hugged the Russian, the contrast between their cold and hot bodies igniting a nice atmosphere. "Thank you", Alfred said with tears streaming down his face. "Thank you."