An Electric Awakening
Prologue
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Okay, I must admit, today was a rather boring day. But, I've been through boring days ever since I awoke to see my Grandfather, Grandpa Rome, smiling down at me. In fact, most of my life consists of boring days, even if history is made every day in the country I represent. Well, half'a country. You don't see South Italy marked on maps anymore, but then again you don't see North Italy either so I guess I can let it pass. I really only learn about this stuff that goes on in Italy, North and South, through the feelings in my body, the News, and the paper work. Contrary to popular belief, we AREN'T the first to find out.
But, anyway, I sit in my regular chair, which happens to be redwood with padding to feel soft and designs made up of circles and swirls carved into the wood including my name, secretly listening to Fabri Fibra and a ton of other songs my citizens come up with on an outdated iPod that should have stopped working years ago, hoping something would happen so another 8 hours of a pointless world meeting would be canceled.
North Italy, my brother, stood up to talk his 8 minutes away on something little like some dude's pasta painting. My turn was next and I still cursed in my head, wishing that fucking anything would happen so that I didn't have to go next. I hated talking to other people: They're all annoying so why bother? And plus, why would they care about the Southern Part of Italy? Nobody has and nobody will. It's not like I'm a hero whom ended a war, and in fact I've started a few so eh, or some little innocent child like Liechtenstein or Kugelmugel whom get their names around by looking cute and cuddly (I'm the exact opposite of that too).
I looked down at my outdated iPod to turn off my music because my damn turn was coming up. I took out my earphones and shoved everything into my pocket. I was right; my brother was talking about some dude and his pasta painting. A timer went off and my brother continued to talk. The potato bastard, known as Germany, sighed and politely told my brother to stop talking and sit down. My brother was a little disappointed that he didn't finish his story, but who really cares about how he feels? I was hesitant to stand up, and you know that feeling in your body where you know you could stand up but you just kind of sit there? Like, Oh hey, I could tell my body to stand up, and you are about to do so (on the very edge of doing so), but you just don't. You sit there and think about sitting up. That Potato bastard noticed my lack of standing up and mutter my name and told me to start my 8 minutes.
When I did get up, there were a bunch, and I mean A BUNCH, of sighs and moans and any sound that told you they were just about to commit suicide if the meeting didn't end right this second. How rude; How fucking rude of those shits. By now you would have thought I was able to deal with things like this but I am not, never been able to and never will be able too. People just get tired of me after a thousand years or so. Wouldn't be surprised if Spain was disgusted with me by now. I didn't say anything, again holding back the want to start a rant, and began speaking about things that happened in my part of Italy. I through a few lies in there, but nothing too exiting or unusual. I could throw in a school shooting or two and nobody would feel like that was too exiting. Not after that school shooting in America and the one that happened somewhere in Italy where the mafia straight up walked into an elementary school and started shooting. Sure, it was tragic, but things like this happened, you know?
But here is where my day turns interesting. As I talk about a (fake) shooting that was so detailed it was like I was actually there, some dude busts into the meeting room. I think, it's about goddam time! You are like 4 minutes late on rescuing me from a horrid speech full of made up shit that everyone would forget the second after my time was done. But, this dude wasn't like, just anyone. We all looked at him, and you'd be surprised at what we saw.
I didn't quite understand, but then again nobody else did, but the dude who interrupted me was a robot. He was my height, had my color hair and hair style, had my eye color, had my exact outfit, had my curl- and holy fucking shit it's a robot version of me. When it looked up at us, it's eyes had blood-red pupils, like those of a horror movie. The worst part was when it talked. It's voice was JUST LIKE MINE, only it had a dark, echo-y, robotic/static sound to it. I shivered, a sudden fear coming over me. And then, just to make it all better, it stared me straight in the eyes, and said:
"Oh." A smile appearing on its metallic, devilish face, "There you are."
I don't know what it wanted with me, but I knew right then and there, that whatever it was going to do, I was fucking screwed…
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