Today...was 9/11. And so... I give you this. I don't own Hetalia.
Today was supposed to be normal. It was supposed to be relaxing. To be...perfect.
But life doesn't care how it's supposed to be.
America was in his his hotel room playing pokemon. The world conference had finished yesterday at the World Trade Center, and he was pooped. A can of root beer was next to him, as 'American Pie' played in the background.
Then, an earth-shattering boom rang through the air.
America doubled over in pain. He clutched his stomach as if he were about to wretch. Lines of agony creased his face, creating a sour grimace. Barely able to stay upright, he swallowed the fear in his throat and replaced it with bravery."What...the hell...was that?!" America choked. He abandoned his pokemon game, stumbled over and looked out the window.
It was difficult to get America to stop talking much less get him speechless. Nothing in the room moved or made a sound. This... was the definition of tragedy. America's mouth hung open at the scene before him. It reflected in his eyes, like a watery mirror image. He raced to his car, and drove to the Twin Towers.
This was the first plane that had hit the world trade center.
+a little while later+
America reached the Twin Towers in record time. It was even worse in person. He smelled the acrid, sour smell of the thick, black smoke that poured from the building. He saw the people, trapped between two deaths making their choice. The choice to burn or to fall. Many chose to fall. He watched as these people with no chance of surviving, without any hope, jumped and flailed helplessly in the air before hitting the ground. Jumpers, they were called. Debris fell, burning, to the ground. There was more.
He heard the screams of grief, of the loved ones of the jumpers watched them fall and hit the ground with a thud. Emergency sirens blared as authorities rushed to the scene. The sound of crackling fire, stung America's ears.
It was crippling, to see his country so shocked and broken. Then...BOOOM! CRASH!... the second plane hit, sending another blow to the already weakened Alfred. This time he did wretch, for the second blow was worse than the first. He lay in the fetal position on the ground. His vision was blurry now, and glasses cracked. Still, he could see the grief and terror surrounding him. More debris rained down, and people ran for their lives, screaming the entire way.
What seemed like a few seconds later, America felt a stabbing pain in his chest though he didn't see anything. His breathing became ragged and he heaved the rest of anything in his stomach. He writhed in his torturous pain, resisting the urge to cry out for help. He was dizzy, and nearly alone now. Everyone had evacuated. Even through his torment, America knew he had to get away. He flopped to a standing position and started running. Pain shot through his body and his only thought could be, run.
A block or so away, America collapsed as the south tower fell. He was showered with shrapnel from the impact, and the metal cut his face, but he was alive. His bomber jacket was shredded, as well as his mind. He gasped for breath as he slowly healed. When the external damage was less, he limped his way back to the hotel where the countries were staying, feeling like a zombie.
+later+
Back at his room, England and Japan were waiting for him. When America dragged the door open he had blood streaming down his face. His clothes were torn, bloody, and singed. His hair a mess and he was covered in debris. His body was a wreck. England was immediately there, hugging the broken country.
"MY GOD WHERE WERE YOU, YOU BLOODY WANKER?! WHERE THE HE'LL WERE YOU?! WE SCOURED THE CITY LOOKING FOR YOU! GOD, I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE SAFE!"
America hung limply in his arms, but England didn't care about the extra weight. Even Japan who was still just looking on, had a small smile. However, when America went unconscious, England was immediately getting him to bed. Japan made calls to the other countries, telling them America was found alive.
I will update soon.