There was a phrase Alfred heard on a daily basis. A phrase that made his blood boil and his head hurt; his fists ball and his teeth clench.
A phrase that he used to say multiple times a day. It used to be his favorite comeback, or even just something to say for fun. It used to make him proud, saying this.
Until he opened his eyes, and realized he was lying to himself.
"It's a free country," His voice cracked as he said those four terrible words to himself.
It really wasn't a free country, he knew that now.
And if anyone knew that, it was him.
He hated that his whole country was formed around the idea of freedom, and everyone was in favor of this idea, and yet only a number of people were truly free.
He had many people try to tell him everyone was free.
He had to resist the urge to punch them. But then again, maybe he should. Maybe then they would actually open their eyes.
People who said everyone was free obviously couldn't see past their own mist of delusions; like a bonnet from the prairie, they could only see what was right in front of them: their own life, without even thinking about turning their heads to see others.
People always spoke of freedom, justice and equality. It's hypocritical. They say they want everyone to be treated the same, and yet they stood next to protests and parades with their hateful signs.
They judged people for wearing things that made them happy or liking things society told them they shouldn't. They judged people for being who they are.
Alfred hated knowing this. He hated knowing that people were being yelled at and abused simply for being who they are.
Everyone should have the freedom to be who they really are.
Sometimes Alfred would have to step out of the meeting room at a world summit when he talked about the state of his country. It was a mess. Not only was the government itself screwed up; the entire country seemed to be doomed. People were getting shot for no reason, and that was only a fraction of their problems.
And when countries were at a low, so were their personifications.
Alfred could barely get out of bed some days. And some days, he just laid there and cried.
He used to be so happy, so proud of this country, and now it was trash. What did he do wrong? What made everything go down the drain?
Alfred rubbed his eyes and grabbed his glasses off of the bedside table, returning them to their place on his face.
Today was another one of those days when it was hard to get out of bed.
Why couldn't his country be like his brother's? Free health care, marriage equality…
Canada was just better off.
He'd never tell anyone except Mattie, but he really did strive to be like him.
He pulled the covers off of himself and shakily stood up. He sniffled, his eyes still stinging from crying.
It hurt. It physically hurt, seeing all these bad things happening to good people. It was all over the news, and what could he do to stop it? Nothing, absolutely nothing. He couldn't help. He couldn't change anything. He couldn't stop it.
This sucked.
He slowly made his way out into his living room, and peaking out of the blinds of the window.
Outside he saw a group of children playing—laughing.
They were happy. They were a rare breed of happy. Their happiness was genuine and innocent…
If only everyone had that kind of pure happiness.
Maybe, just maybe, those children would grow up and be able to keep that happiness. And then it would spread, and spread, until everyone was happy.
Maybe America wasn't doomed after all.
Then again, maybe that was just a pipe dream. Or maybe not.