Canada loved fruit knives.
They had shiny, metallic blades that reflected your face prettily when you stared at them. The handles had snug grips that insured it would not slip when you were cutting things up. He prided himself as a patisserie chef, something he got from France probably, and a fruit knife can be really useful when you need to cut cake toppings and pie fillings into that exact width. His favourite fruit knife was given to him by America on his 200th birthday. It looked good in the little wooden stand on his counter-top.
But it looked even better in America's neck.
Obviously, the hero of the world could have afforded something slightly more extravagant for his birthday, having remembered it for once.
Canada was going to cut him up into pieces and bake them into a pie. He will send some to all the countries, and tell them it was leftovers from his birthday party.
Perhaps he will offer some to England. It'll probably taste better than what he usually makes anyways, even if there were hero chunks in it.
While the pie was baking in the oven, Canada bleached his floor and got rid of all the evidence. The bleach left a big, discolored stain in his floors, so he carpeted it.
The oddity of having a carpet in his kitchen suited him perfectly. The little wooden knife stand on his counter looked lonely though.
Maybe he can talk France into buying him a new one.
