The Girl who Hated America
There was a girl who lived in America. He could always feel her presence; it was such a strong thing. She had dark, dark eyes, and hair cut at her shoulders, and she was very pretty...except she tormented Alfred. Constantly.
Every time he tried to fall asleep, America could feel her inside his head, whispering. He would cover his head with his pillow, but still she was there. For some reason, inside this little girl, there was such strong emotions of hatred, and sadness, that it kept America up throughout the night. It wasn't until midnight, at 12:30 exactly, before he could finally catch some rest. Why does she hate me so much? He would ask himself the next day.
Finally, after a full year of torture from this single person's mind, America decided to do something about it. With his endless supply of money, Alfred rented a house not to far away from the girls. In fact, it was on the same block as her's. During the day, America stood outside, waiting to catch sight of the girl, so he could ask her why she despised him so much, but the girl never showed. She remained walled up in her house, and each day, her whisperings grew louder and more anguished in America's ears.
Sometimes, America would go to her window during the night, and peer through the broken, light blue shades. Each time he looked through, she was ferociously scribbling things down upon a notebook. He couldn't help but wonder what was in it. One time, she left her shades open, and America was finally able to get a look at her face. She was a very pale, fragile thing, with dark circles under her eyes and quivering hands. She smiled hardly ever, and when she saw America looking through her window, she only stared at him before slowly resuming her work of jotting down secrets into her journal. It made him feel sad just to look at her, and America found himself wanting to move away.
A few days before his birthday, America discovered that the girl was going to a block party to celebrate the fourth of July. This confused him, and he scrunched up his nose in distaste. If she hates me so much, why celebrate Independence Day? Still, he sighed, and decided he ought to go to, so he could finally meet her... She probably goes just for the fireworks. He told himself, biting into his lower lip softly, and thinking of how he had won the Revolutionary War against England. The fourth of July always made him kind of sad.
Girl who hates America, girl who hates me, why do you live here? Why don't you go away? Go live in France, go live in England, they're so much better, in your eyes...
America went to the block party on the forth of July. Japan had offered to throw him an actual birthday party, but America had refused. He was in no mood to celebrate anyways.
The sky grew dark above, and America stood alone, a stranger amongst the familiar townsfolk. Men brought out gigantic, impressive-looking fireworks, and prepared to set them off. Little children squealed and jumped up and down inside a bounce house, clinging to the mesh walls and watching, waiting. Women chattered together excitedly and exchanged tales.
The little girl stood alone. She was wearing nothing but plain jeans and a black T-shirt, and her arms were crossed from the chill of the night air. Everyone seemed to be avoiding her. She didn't look happy, not even when the first firework was set off, and a bright rainbow array of colors spilled into the darkness. Her eyes glistened, reflecting the light, and she bit her lower lip, just like America had done. When the fireworks made loud explosive noises, she flinched and sank back into the shadows, watching from afar, her hands trembling, her countenance miserable. America went over to her, and stood beside her without a word.
She didn't look up when he stood beside her, she just lowered her head and stared at the ground, her shoulders shaking. America remembered he was wearing his jacket, and asked, "Would you like my jacket?"
When she glanced up at him, her eyes flashed brilliantly, brighter than any of the fireworks, but she shook her head no. "No, thanks." She mumbled quietly, and looked away from him, twining her fingers together to keep her hands from shaking.
After a while, America found himself beginning to get bored; he had, after all, seen fireworks so many times. Sighing, he leaned against a twisted baby tree, and inquired, "Don't you like Independence Day?" as languidly as if he were asking someone what their favorite color was.
The girl's lips twitched for a minute, and she crossed her arms tighter around her chest. "I do." She murmured. "Why wouldn't I?"
America wondered if she was mocking him. The emotions she contained within herself were flooding into him awfully strong now, and causing his own hands to shake; fury...fury...fury...pain...pain...pain... "Why do you hate me?" He blurted out, unable to control himself.
Almost automatically, the girl responded, "I don't...hate America." Her eyes did not glance up at him as she said so. "I just hate the people within it, and how they treat me."
Confused, America tilted his head to the side. How does she know who I am? But he didn't say anything else addressing America as himself."But...people are cruel, in every country." He countered, fireworks reflecting in his glasses as he stared at her. "I don't understand-"
"Neither do I." The girl admitted with a shrug, "I'm just a hateful person, I suppose." and her voice cracked at the very last word, and a tear fell from her glistening dark eye and ran down her cheek to stain her black shirt a shade darker. "I just want everything to be perfect." She told America, regaining strength back into her voice. "I just want to be perfect...but no matter what, no one ever accepts me. I'm always rejected, spat upon, and left out."
Hatred.
America blinked as a particularly bright firework was set off above their heads. "Oh," He said, folding his arms. He frowned at the girl's word, then reached over, and lay his long, gloved fingers upon her shoulder. "We're the same, then." He told her, smiling biter-sweetly. She looked up, surprise in her dark eyes, and then, suddenly they became light-colored, and sweet, like Hershey's chocolate.
Love.
"Yeah, I guess." She muttered, shrugging his hand off. She laughed a little bit beneath her breath as she did so. "It's you're fault then, huh?" She accused, but it was only jokingly. "I take after you."
"You do." America replied with a smile, and he felt her emotions ebb away. They became lighter, happier, and he realized it was because she didn't feel she had to bear all the burdens of the world anymore...he would share those burdens with her. They didn't speak for the rest of the night, they just stood there beneath the jet black sky, and the tiny, pinpoint stars, and watched the fireworks explode in giant gushes of color.
When the finale came, America heard his girl whisper beneath her breath, as her body shook from the booms, "1812, the Battle of Fort McHenry..." He smiled when he heard that, for the simple fact that he had been wrong...and he had never been happy about being wrong before, not in all of his life.
That night, America didn't even check the clock before he went to sleep. He lay down in his bed, and his eyes closed, and he snored peacefully, almost on cue. He moved away, and went back to his original house shortly after that occurrence, but he never forgot that forth of July...and he never had trouble sleeping again.