America sighed. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the white plastic shelves of the supermarket, then counted the rusty copper coins and paper bills that were in his pockets.
Great. $10.29. Just enough to last me for another few days. Heck. I can't even afford my usual meal of burgers.
"That would be $2.19, sir," said the dull-looking cashier.
America handed her the money and smiled melancholically.
"Have a good night," he muttered.
So much for being the hero when I can't even afford to feed myself.
He picked up the loaf of bread and trudged slowly back home. Several minutes later, America slowly unlocked the heavy gate-like doors of the Section 8 Housing that he resided in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. As he entered the apartment, his gaze fell on his old-style television and telephone. The subsequent nostalgia brought America back to the glorious and prosperous times of the 1900s, also called the "American Era". On a dusty shelf, he found a photo album. Sitting down on his old leather sofa, America blew the dust off the album and he slowly flipped through the pages. Embedded in one was a photo of him with his toothy grin, holding a copy of the SALT treaty with Russia. Oh, how he wished to go back to those , the man also realised that his tremendous debt changed his personality, from obnoxious, "I'M THE HERO" America to the current sad and arid variant of himself. America took a slice of bread and nibbled at it half-heartedly. He was forgetting something… ah, yes,he'd forgotten to ring China to ask for some more money. Slowly, he got up from the sofa and walked sadly to the old 1950s telephone. His still-deft hands quickly pressed the number for China's and turned the rotary dial.
"Ni hao ma? This is China-aru. How may I help you?" answered China, tone cheerful as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"China, may I borrow some money again?"
"Sure-aru. Just come to my house at 8 tomorrow. I will be hanging up now-aru. Goodbye."
America's spirit rose slightly because his friend was willing to lend him money, what with him owing most of his debt to China. Other countries were hesitant to lend him money, for they knew that America would likely not pay them back. China, on the other hand, had the wealth and thanks to opening his doors to the West and cheap labour, was able to make a lot of money and always had a surplus. America knew that he shouldn't have wasted so much money to compete with the Soviet Union. But he did accomplish one thing. His rival, the Soviet Union collapsed. Russia couldn't afford to have Belarus, Ukraine, the Baltic nations, the Central Asian Republics and the Caucuses and there was political pressure from the citizens.
Why was I so careless and let my money fly away? And for such a stupid cause… And now the economy of Russia is flourishing due to capitalism and more trade.
Slowly, America dragged himself into the bathroom, took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. He went to bed soon after and fell asleep seconds after hitting the mattress.
America was awakened to the familiar chirp of his alarm clock. It was 7:30 in the morning, and strangely, in the middle of winter, the sun shone brilliantly. Now, he had to go to China's house to borrow money. America brushed his teeth, dressed and then ate a slice of stale bread. He locked his doors, double checked that he did so and then headed out from the Section 8 complex. He walked to the subway station swiping his MetroCard into the turnstile and walking up onto the elevated platform. The J train arrived shortly, and the debt-ridden man boarded the train alongside the many commuters heading into Manhattan to start their workday. As the train moved across Williamsburg, he doubted America as being the land of opportunity. All he saw around Williamsburg was dull brick Section 8 housing buildings and old run down factories. The train ran on the Williamsburg Bridge. America remembered the time in the late 1800s and early 1900s when he was emerging to become a world power and where tall skyscrapers and bridges were popping up all over New York, and then realised that his memory was more than 100 years old. The train went underground, and America realised that his stop was going to come up soon. After the stop at Essex Street, the train's announcer announced:
"This is Canal Street. Transfer is available to the 6, N, M, Q, R and Z trains."
This was America's stop. Canal Street. Canal Street in New York was where most people with Chinese ancestry lived, and China with them. He walked up the steps and along Canal Street, occasionally bumping into a few tourists here and there. His eyes spotted the white text reading "Mott Street" and he turned left. America saw a building that was obviously (to him, at least) China's house: a red building with an Oriental roof. Several Chinese characters had been engraved on the door number sign. America knocked, rapping his knuckles against the wooden door.
"Who is it?" inquired China "AIIYAH! FORMOSA AND KOREA. STOP IT! JAPAN. GET THE DOOR, WILL YOU?!"
America figured that Formosa (Taiwan) and Korea probably hurled themselves onto the ancient Chinese man, which was a typical scene in the large Asian family. Something America envied a lot after the Revolutionary War, where he denounced his relationship with England and all the other countries that lived with England.
"CHINA YOUR BREASTS SHALL BE MINE DAZE~!" shouted a loud voice, presumably Korea's.
"It's me! The hero…" America exclaimed loudly but his voice started to die off when he started saying the word hero.
"Herro America-san," said the often quiet and respectful Japan.
"Why hello, Japan!"
"China-san wirr get ready for you when he finished dearing with Formosa-chan and Korea-kun," said Japan in a slightly irritated voice, "Would you rike some tea?"
"Yes please."
Japan made America's tea and politely told him to wait in the living room. While he waited for China, America sipped his tea slowly and listened to the occasional few screams from China as well as pans and other items crashing down. When that had happened, Korea and Formosa cheered. After a few more minutes, China entered the living room.
"Ah, America! I remembered that you called me yesterday asking me for some money-aru. I'm lending you $500. It's the same interest as before. Take your time to pay back!" said China, stepping into the living room with a wad of $20 bills in his hands.
America took the bills, thanked China and left the house. America realised that it was around noon since the restaurants in Chinatown were packed with businesspeople eating lunch and discussing their business plans, as well as many tourists. America read the time: 11:56
Huh. I was right. It is approximately noon. Hmm… I might be forgetting something again. OH, SHIT. OH, SHIT, OH SHIT, OHHH SHIT. I'VE GOT A JOB INTERVIEW AT 12:30!
The interview fresh in his mind, America sprinted for the subway stop. He had just missed an express Q train uptown and thus was forced to take the next train, a local N train to 34th Street, where many corporate buildings stood. America was impatient. It seemed like eternity, but Prince Street passed. Then 8th and 14th. After that, 23rd and 28th. Finally, the 34th Street station appeared behind the train's windows. Hurtling out of the subway stop entrance past slightly confused bystanders, America risked a glance at his watch. 12:26. Well shit. Four minutes left and the place he was supposed to be interviewed at is on 39th. America sighed began to sprint in desperation to 39th Street. By the time America got into the building, hopped on the elevator and got to his destination floor, it was already 12:36.
Shit. Six minutes late.
"Um... Excuse me? I'm Alfred F. Jones and I have an interview with Mr. Beilschmidt?" America said to the receptionist, a petite brunette with enlarged eyes behind thick glasses. A tag on her chest read, "Anne."
"Yes, this way. He's been waiting for some time now," Anne replied, a nervous manner obvious in her voice. She led America to a small conference room, where a blonde man sat.
"Mr. Beilschmidt, Mr. Jones is here." As soon as she completed her sentence, she quickly scattered back to her reception desk, as if in fear of something bad that might happen.
"Mr. Jones," began Mr. Beilschmidt, his face and tone emotionless. "You're late and you're not properly dressed for this occasion. May I inquire the reason why?"
"I am really sorry, Mr. Be… Mr. Beilshmit?"
"Beilschmidt."
"Yes. As I was saying. I am sorry Mr. Beilschmidt. I forgot that we had an interview and I had to go to Chinatown to ask my friend to borrow some money. As you can see, I am poverty stricken. I lost my job in this recent recession and I owe a lot of debt since I was trying to compete with my rival. I really need this job."
"Yes. Yes. Your résumé is quite interesting. I also did a background research on you and contacted a few of your close friends and family. Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Williams, both your brothers said that you are a burger fanatic? They claimed that you ate burgers growing up. Burgers were your main meal."
"That's true, sir."
"Very well. You may leave now."
America shook Mr. Beilschmidt's hand and walked out the room. He closed the door silently and sighed to himself. He probably flunked that interview. To console himself to some point, he wondered if all of his interviews were conducted in such a manner.
I'm screwed. I fucked up. There's no point living anymore. Might as well end it…
America went home. It was as if time had slowed to a lazy blur. On his train ride back home, he began to recall his life. From where he was competed over by England, France, Spain, the Netherlands and England won the right to be his big brother, America though over to the Revolutionary War where he won his independence. Then to the times that he loved. The post-World War II times, the American Era. His thoughts were interrupted abruptly when the voice of the conductor announced his stop. The quiet, sad man got off the train sadly and walked to the brick Section 8 building he called home.
Shutting the door gently behind him, America walked through his apartment, gazing at his living space as a whole. After a few seconds he headed to the kitchen, picking up a notepad and a pencil (surprisingly, it was already sharpened to perfection) and sat down behind the cold steel table.
There is no point in life anymore, not for me. There were good times, but I've fucked up one time too many. Goodbye, world. I hope someone out there will miss me once I've gone.
Signed,
America.
Setting the pencil on the table, America headed out his apartment's door for the last time, not even bothering to shut it behind him walked up to the roof, death note clutched tightly in his hands. The weather was surprisingly warm, with no detectable wind. America found a small grey stone near the edge and pressed his note to the ground before covering it with the stone. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the railings that would take him to did it feel like, to fall down with no hope of return, to see the world zooming closer and closer before the inevitable darkness? America glanced down to the streets below, full of cars and people and-
"Really?After all this?" A monotone voice broke through his thoughts. The suicidal man turned to glance at Iceland, standing some distance away with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.
America laughed without mirth. "If you were me, you would have done the same thing, am I right? Death is better than this hardship."
"You should hang onto life. Many people wish that they can live longer, but they are at the hands of the Grim Reaper because of disease, old age, whatever the hell else. America, you are a strong, healthy young man. You've a long way to go. You're poor, with no job, so what? You can get one and start working your way up," preached Iceland, "When Denmark and I lived in the same house and he got invaded by Germany, I didn't complain. I didn't cut an artery and bleed to death. When Norge got invaded too and I was desperate, you came to the rescue. Remember what you told me?" Iceland attempted an emulation of America's heroic voice, back when he had actually used it. "I'M THE HERO AND I WILL PROTECT YOU! DON'T BE A PESSIMIST. JUST BE OPTIMISTIC LIKE ME, ALL THE TIME! Well, you're the pessimist now. And now, it's my turn to be the hero, to save you. Now go be optimistic like you were so long ago. Go on, head to Switzerland and learn his penny-pinching ways."
America wanted to argue with Iceland. The only words that came out of his mouth were, "T-t-thank you, Iceland."
Iceland took America to Switzerland's house, explained everything to him. Switzerland seemed to understand, and sympathised with America. For the next few weeks, America stayed at Switzerland's house and learned his cheap ways. During the stay, America received a call from Mr. Beilschmidt saying that he was accepted for the job at the burger corporation. After receiving the Swiss man's lessons on how to save money, America had re-acquired his former cheerful self. He thanked Iceland and Switzerland numerous times for saving his life and helping him get back on track, then started work at last and quickly became the America the fandom and everyone know as. He was back to the regular I'M THE HERO personality, but now he knew how to control himself, to refrain from being too arrogant.
4 years later
America was late. He hurriedly left his apartment on the Upper West Side and took the subway to work. America paid off his final debts to China two years ago and he managed to save enough to afford for a mortgage on his apartment. America recalled the incidents four years ago, which now seemed so far away. Deep down, he knew that he had Iceland to thank for being there to prevent him from jumping off that roof into oblivion.
Maybe the sun does shine after a storm.