no…No… NO! I have to- why- I have to get away from here!

America pushed off with all of his might, sprinting as fast as he could to get away from the memories haunting him so suddenly.

He was suddenly in a small clearing in a forest, air littered with falling leaves. He stared in surprise at the scene he saw before him.

He saw himself and Japan in front of him, talking and smiling like they used to.

America was grinning, his arm around the smaller nation's shoulders, making wild gestures and just talking to him with no awkwardness like there was now between the two.

Maybe… these memories aren't so ba-

The scene shifted suddenly before America's eyes, he was now standing in front of a bloody, battered and crying Japan with a pistol pointed towards his forehead.

A-America-san… p-please… Japan pleaded, tears falling out of his non bandaged eye.

He only smiled coldly, pulling back the tiny lever, too late for that 'old friend' you should have thought of that before you dropped those bombs on me…

That was not my concern to do that! I swea— gunshot.

America clutched his head, turning away from the flashback, cringing.

He bolted away, his surroundings blurring from both the speed he was running at and from his tears. He noticed one thing in particular… he halted and looked at a single, seemingly random park bench. But the old him and Lithuania was sitting on it, past America was explaining something and pointing outwards, Lithuania was sitting there, held in America's arm, nodding and listening to every word that the blonde nation said with a smile on his face.

America smiled at this happy memory, but is turned to a frown as soon as he heard a different scene playing behind him with the same characters, but with hate and hurt in their voices.

'you're a traitor America.' Lithuania spat, his normal timidness gone.

'Get out of here you communist!' America shouted, pointing the gun at him.

Lithuania spared one more hateful glare at the American nation before turning and walking away with a slight limp.

America bit his lip, holding back a sob and took off running again.

Why are these memories so vivid! I am sorry!

He ran with all his might, ignoring the pain shooting through his stomach and legs, ignoring the lack of oxygen to his lungs. As he ran, he could almost feel the dark memories of Japan and Lithuania staring at him. At his pain. Ignoring his cries for forgiveness. After stopping in the middle of a crowded street, he stood there, his head hanging low and his shoulders slumped. Ordinary humans shoved by him, not caring that he was in pain, he could feel certain presences like the other nations were walking along the street too but that was impossible. They were all at home, probably thinking of America's betrayals and how much they hated him.

He looked forwards, tearstains traced his jaw line and cheeks, his normal, joy filed sky blue eyes filled with sorrow, pain, regret and fear were a dulled, cloudy blue.

He ran again before his body had recovered fully, running from the memories until he collapsed halfway onto a wall, struggling to move forwards more. He could feel a stare boring into his back but he ignored it and pushed off the wall, stumbling into another run. Why am I being so WEAK! I'm supposed to be a hero. Not a damsel in distress… He yelled mentally, more tears spilling over, under his fogged glasses.

He ran more until he was numb, across another field, head pushed forwards in determination.

He slowed and stopped in front of a small pool of water.

America and France was sitting there, enjoying the scenery around them, pointing out random things, smiling. America laughed at the thought of being friends with the enemy of the man who practically raised him. They joked and laughed, it seemed so peaceful. America waved his arms around like a small child and pointed something else out. France nodded and smiled, agreeing. He made some kind of witty remark to the younger nation's comment, smirking. America turned his head, seeing a scene completely opposite to the one before,

America shoved France to the ground, onto his hands and knees unable to resist anymore. So weak. America straddled him, still standing and pointed the gun to the Frenchman's head. 'you're so damn WEAK France.' America hissed before cocking the gun.

America shook his head wildly, "NO!" he ran away again. Was that going to be his solution to everything now? Running away?

He didn't get very far before another memory flooded him. A brief, simple one.

America and Russia ran playfully around the grass, tromping around like children. America laughed and gestured for Russia to hurry up. Russia giggled and ran up to him. America had his hand in a finger-gun position, pretending to shoot Russia, Russia copied America, smiling. Both of them running off again, still in their little play war.

America could remember the cold war suddenly. He and Russia stood there, pistols pressed to each other's forehead, finger on the trigger, a sadistic smile on both their faces.

America's chest was tight, he was panting to even get a tiny bit of oxygen into his body before he ran away from these memories as well.

He ran until was face to face with a large, black brick wall. He let out a scream of frustration, and started slamming his fists into the wall as hard as he could, ignoring the cracking of brick, the pain in his hands, he soon went numb, but still pounded the wall, yelling out his inner pain.

Suddenly his wrist was caught by a strong, yet gentle hand, "Alfred! Stop! You're going to hurt your self! What I-"

He pushed the person who had grabbed him to the ground, no knowing who is was.

There on the ground was his younger brother. Canada, his face filled with fear from the anger on America's face.

"M-Matthew… I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't-" America whipped around and went to run away again when he bumped into Canada again, he looked behind him, the other Canada was gone, the one dressed in light colors. The one that stood in front on had a dark feeling, and his face was filled with hate and fury, his calm, timid indigo eyes filled with so much hate is scared America half to death.

He took off running once again. Apparently this was going to be his answer to his problems now. He wan until he slammed into a square wired fence, he was still angry at himself for betraying everyone he loved, his friends, his brother, his father-figure. He laced his fingers through the fence, wishing that he could end it all, to go back in time and fix all of his screw-ups. That he could destroy them with his powerful hands, but all the power in strength showed nothing at this moment, he was powerless, fearful. Suddenly conscious about how everyone must hate him. He was such a child. A spoiled child who hurt everyone he had ever known, and they would never hear his screams for forgiveness. It was all drowned by the hate they felt for him most likely. He turned away from his support he held onto and took off running again. He ran harder and faster than he did before, arms pumping, head pushed forwards, back hunched and running for dear life until he nearly fell over in surprised at one more memory, a lot older than the last. He was a child once more, playing alone in a field, still one of England's colonies, whipping a piece of dried grass back and forth pretending it was a sword. The he saw England, who's face lit up in happiness to see America, the colony's eye's widened in extreme joy at he ran forwards towards and reached his hand out as England did, "lets go home." England said calmly and still smiled. Those three words seemed to mean everything to America because he reached out farther in order to grab the nation's hand. But he never made it, the scene flashed like lightning to a more painful one. The rain was pounding down onto two blonde nations. One in dark blue, the other in red.

NO! NOT THIS MEMORY! America screamed mentally, his eyes licked into the flashback.

England tried to reach out to America who coldly gripped his wrist and yanked England past him, his eyes covered by hair. "what has happened to you England. Where was the greatness I fooled myself into seeing as long ago? " America asked coldly, not actually wanting an answer. England whipped around in rage and charged to the emotionless nation he formally saw as a son and threw a punch.

America dodged the punch, he twisted his arm around, threw him off and they continued fighting until they stopped for a split second when America landed a single hard punch on England's arm, simple yet effective because England clutched his arm and backed away, pain and regret clearly visible on his face. The present America pushed off as hard as he could, yelling "England! No! I'm so-" he went to grab his arm in order to apologize to him, to say he didn't mean it but as he went to grab the sleeve, he disappeared, America stumbled and continued running, away from these hallucinations. He ran and ran, until his legs were numb, until his head pounded, until he screamed his throat raw and until he fell down and struggled back to his feet, stumbling and dragging. He could hear multiple pairs of feet behind him and someone touched his shoulder, who whipped around to see no one… he was surely losing his mine, now he was feeling things as well as seeing them. He fell to his knees, hunched over the grass and sobbed. He screamed, cried and apologized until he could feel unconsciousness tugging at his mind. He pounded the ground with his fists, still apologizing to everyone he had ever hurt, to all who he had betrayed due to his childness. He was close to giving into the drowsy feeling yanking at his mind until he heard footsteps again. Great… more of them… who will I see this time? He looked up in fear to see present-day England running at him, concern covering his face, "America! What happened to you?" he asked, yelling.

America got to his feet shakily and took a single step towards England, "E-England? Is that actually you?" he gasped out, wincing when he felt his throat burn and at how childish his voice was.

"What the bloody hell happened to you Alfred?" England asked again, seeing America's face, it was red, scratched, tearstained and puffy. He looked like his little colony again when England had broken a promise to visit. America stumbled forwards, holding out his arms, falling onto England, burying his face in the smaller nation's neck.

England responded by throwing his arms around America's neck, petting his hair, telling him it was alright and to tell him what was the matter.

"I'm such a horrible person…" America croaked.

"now who on earth told you that Alfred?" Arthur asked soothingly.

"I have betrayed everyone I ever knew, you, Lithuania, France, Russia, Japan, everyone… I am such a selfish person…" America sobbed

"that's a lie Alfred and you know it… you are a good person, just a bit childish is all. And everyone has forgiven you for your mistakes. Even… even me…"Arthur hugged him tighter.

"I-I tried to run away from it all… but it followed me!" America yelled.

"you can't outrun your memories. You can try but they will always catch up with you"

hey its me here! I have one question…. WHY DOES ALL MY ISNSPERATION COME AROUND MIDNIGHT? WHYYYYYY? Okay. This was inspired by .com/watch?v=VOW6uRxeNgc&feature=related this video right here. Its really emotional and very well done. It's a cmv but its not bad at all.

R&r!