America rolled out of bed and scrambled to find his clothing. He had slept in—again. He scowled, grabbing his trousers from where he had hastily thrown them on the floor the night before. If he was late this time, England would have a conniption.
He stumbled into his trousers and threw on a shirt. He had misplaced his pocket watch, but judging by the light coming in through his window, it was probably around 10:30.
"Pah, I can still make it," he chuckled to himself, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his pants. He looked down, cursing under his breath. He had a tie on before he went to bed, right? Must be around somewhere…
He bent over to look under his bed when a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grabbed his mattress, clutching a fistful of his blankets as he waited for it to pass. His back throbbed angrily as he closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. This had been happening for a while, now. All of a sudden he'd feel light-headed, and a stabbing pain would shoot up his spine. It usually passed quickly, though, and America had done well at ignoring it so far. Lately the episodes were becoming more frequent, and though he'd never admit it aloud, it was starting to worry him.
The climate was turbulent among his people nowadays. Rumors of war were constantly on the tip of every tongue at meetings, though America didn't need to hear it to know that something horrible was looming on the horizon. Between the unrest over states' rights, blatant economic issues, and, America noted with a cringe, the issue of slavery, his people had spiraled into turbulence. All America could do was pray that the people of his nation saw reason and stopped doing things that were clearly wrong, stopped hurting one another, but he feared that the only way for them to reach any compromise would be from coming to blows. After all, he thought with a bitter smile, wasn't that how he became independent in the first place?
He slowly stood upright as the dizziness passed, then made his way to his dresser. He was fairly certain he had another tie in the top drawer; it was easier than scrounging around for his other one. He paused, looking at himself in the mirror. God, he looked horrible. He had been doing nothing but sleep lately, but he still had dark circles beneath his eyes. Not to mention he looked white as a sheet.
"Come on, man, pull it together," he coached himself as he rummaged through the top drawer and retrieved a simple black tie. He put it on and donned his glasses, dashing over to the coat hanger beside his wardrobe. He retrieved his vest and morning coat and ran out into the hallway. The meeting with England wasn't until 11:00, right? So, he reasoned as he finished getting dressed and slid down the bannister of the stairwell, he would probably would arrive right on time.
He smirked; he wouldn't give that limey bastard the satisfaction of having him skid into the meeting room late. Not this time, anyway. He unlocked the front door and started to head out, then stopped when he realized he had forgotten his hat.
"Whoops," he muttered as he backed up to retrieve it. Oh, England would have had a field day with that one. "What kind of gentleman forgets his hat?" "Nobody is going to take you seriously!" "Blah, blah, blah—"
America gasped as searing pain suddenly shot up his spine. He fell to his knees, vision going dark and head pounding. It was unbearable, like he was being split in-two…
He hit the floor with a thud, glasses askew as the room swam. He reached out toward the front door, his quivering hand grasping for help that wouldn't come.
"Help…" he wheezed as everything went black.