Here's your disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or my country. I'd Hetalia-fy a lot more current events if I did.
It was his birthday on this dark night. America, human name Alfred F. Jones, sat in an armchair watching the traditional festivities from the spectacular view of his apartment's window. The usual party he threw, inviting all friendly nations, had finished. Russia had shown up and given him another dubious gift. Japan had come and snapped pictures of the still-ongoing fireworks show. As usual, England had declined to attend. America had grinned, worn his silly patriotic Uncle Sam hat, laughed obnoxiously, waved American flags made by China, sang his national tunes, then shoved hamburgers and hotdogs in the other nations' faces. But it was the after-party no one would see.
The celebration would go on. All over, whenever it was dark enough in their skies, his people would send up all kinds of pyrotechnics. Any excuse to have a party. To eat and laugh and sing together and not worry. To fill the sky with color, exploding from nowhere in a second. Then go to sleep, the sky still shooting up. As if lighting up the sky would change anything, would make it better, solve their problems, take them back or forward in time to when that happiness was real.
But every July 4th, America would take some time to himself to observe the celebration of his history. Through the rockets' red glare, so very much like the ones he had every year prior, came memories. Each burst gave off a heart-thumping noise like thundering cannons. The air was filled with smoke, rising as if from rifles. That smoke would linger long after the shows ceased. The blond country winced slightly as sparklers erupted in crackling noises, resounding with gunfire and bombs in his mind. People shouted as some sparklers ended in bursts of sound, piercing his ears like the screams of men.
This was the side of him no one ever saw. But he allowed his mind to slip into memories every Independence Day. He owed it to himself.
Cherry bombs erupted in the sky, the sound eerily mimicking shells screaming. In the years America had been a country, he had seen many wars. Causes good and false, lives lost and won. The incessant booms brought it all back. And without fail, on the night of his history he would remember, flashing back through time.
"Alfred!" said his commander, white wig resting on his shoulders in curls. The would-be nation started, and looked up from cleaning his dirty gun into his commander's stoic face.
"Everyone expects us to lose this war. This struggle of peasants against royalty. A young runaway against...what do you call England?" George Washington addressed the Colonies of America.
"I sometimes know him by a human name of Arthur, sir—" Alfred was suddenly cut off by a loud bang. While at first resembling the cannon fire of the past weeks, the two men soon saw that it served a different purpose; the Continental army had recently scored a much-needed victory. To celebrate, the happy, shouting, semi-drunk men were sending off fireworks.
"Yes." Continued Washington, despite of the colorful interruption. "He and his people believe that our Declaration signed by 56 good men will never last. That it is a worthless piece of paper. That it was not signed in iron pen and definite will. They believe you are still a collection of disorganized territories, too young and inexperienced to ever be right." He gazed up at the sky, ablaze with joy, then walked a few steps forward until he stood outlined against the raucous celebration. America's general stood there for a few moments while his young charge fiddled with his bandages and awaited his next words.
After a small pause, he turned suddenly to face the budding country. "Alfred...I believe they're wrong. Times are hard now, fighting and hurting. But I have taken it upon myself, and it is my proud duty, to see you become a nation. Not everyone knows you as I do, as a young boy named Alfred…" The blond boy pouted at his words, and seeing that, the man smiled and corrected himself. "A young, capable, boy named Alfred. But I think all of your proud citizens know you in some way, in their hearts." He strode toward the young America, who could only blink up in grateful astonishment at the warmth in his leader's tone.
"That's why they'll fight for you. Because your beliefs and theirs are the same. You are a concrete part of them, one that they cherish. They are proud to call themselves Americans, and strive for the opportunity to make their dreams come true, while bettering themselves and you. Your people know that the ideals of peace, love, justice, and equality are not just a dream if it's you. And you won't let them down." George Washington knelt down and laid his hands on his adolescent nation's shoulders. "That's why, America…" The youth's eyes widened at the use of his new name.
"That's why I will give all of myself to ensure you become a country. A fine country. One that stays true to its beliefs in spite of all the bumps and scrapes along the way. It's not going to be easy." A rare grin graced his features. "It's never going to be easy. But it will be worth it. You are like a firework, my boy. The first spark is nothing compared to its true beauty. Just when you think it's over, it's not. You come back fighting. Someday you'll look back at your hills and mountains and think 'I did that'. I only wish to live long enough to see it. If in the history books I am written as simply 'the father of his country', that will be enough for me." He straightened up. As the boy that would be America watched, his commander spread his arms out wide to the night sky, ablaze with wonders. "Look, Alfred. It's not that piece of paper they're celebrating tonight. It's you."
235 years later, America closed his eyes as he remembered his first president, his "father", his commander, and the first person to fully believe in him.
He could really use someone like that now. Now, when most of the world saw him as a nuisance; as a cause of the Great Recession; as a big, stupid idiot; and as, quite frankly, a mess. None of his Presidents had quite reached his old general's level. The blond nation smiled; some of them had been close. Teddy, FDR, Lincoln…all of them had been great, but he owed the whole start of himself to his "father". America frowned and briefly wondered if Obama should be on that list. His current boss had made history, for sure, but as the years passed he had seemed to be less and less impressive. Ah well, the country shrugged. He'd leave that answer to the history books. Washington hadn't really known how he would end up being remembered either.
One firework shot up and disappeared for a single black moment before bursting into an emerald green explosion, then changing color to crimson and coming down like bloody rain. Through the ever-changing colors Alfred saw the red and blue winking of airplane taillights. He giggled. Though it had never happened before, and hopefully never would—extreme precautions were taken—every year he had to wonder what would happen if an airplane were hit. Run, airplanes, run! He thought to the night sky, before a jolting boom sounded to his far left.
America turned to look, watching glitter rain down in palm-tree fronds before being startled again, this time turning to view a "weeping willow" firecracker. The whole sky competed for his attention from all sides, drawing him in by noises to notice them even for a second before they changed color and became so different you could hardly remember what they were like before.
"Sir Jones!" Alfred turned at the shout of a uniformed man, running toward him.
"What is it?" He snapped. It was the middle of World War II, none of his allies were anywhere to be found, and Pearl Harbor had just exploded.
"We are receiving more intelligence about the attack, sir. Without a doubt, the perpetrators were those Japs." said the man, purposefully using the insulting slang for their enemy. "Eight of our battleships were damaged or sunk. Over 300 aircraft met the same fate." The officer paused and took a deep, shaky breath. "The casualties…"
America stood dumbfounded as the soldier continued, spouting losses to a country still reeling in shock. He tried to focus on the words and what they meant, but they felt foreign, alien. The young officer himself didn't seem totally real either, as if everything was taking place underwater, obscuring all sight and hearing. America gritted his teeth and felt his fists start to shake in anger. He had survived the first World War, and hoped never to see the current one. He had built himself up from nothing. He had become a nation, so young and strong, defying everyone's expectations. He had even survived tearing himself in two with the Civil War, dammit! And yet…
Surprised at the amount of hate in his sudden flashback, the modern-day Alfred F. Jones pulled himself back to reality with a gasp. He stood there, breathing hard, as he tried to calm himself down. Japan was his friend now, he reminded himself. Trying to relax, America took deep breaths, recalling the good times he had with his new ally as his breathing slowly became regular. Yes, an ally… Japan was a valuable friend; he had given America electronics and cars. He came over to play video games. And while it wasn't always easy to get a straight "no" from Honda Kiku, America found himself becoming more and more interested in the Eastern nation's manga and anime.
America sighed. That war, like so many others, was in the past. Amends had been made, mistakes forgiven, and good things about each other discovered. He preferred having good relations with Japan. Heck, America smiled. He'd take friends over enemies any day. Even Russia? A small part of him wondered. He frowned in response. …I guess. It was possible, albeit unlikely, that years from now they could be the best of friends. Oh well. I wonder if he likes hamburgers…Under the light of the fireworks everything seemed possible.
The almost-perfect-spheres erupted, reflecting in their country's glasses. America suddenly became aware of the spectacles, loyally guarding his nose. How could he have forgotten Texas? If it weren't for his 28th state, he wouldn't even be able to see clearly! Alfred grinned widely at the thought, fiddling with his frames with one hand. That's right…since this was a night to celebrate the United States, it was also one to celebrate each and every one.
All 50 of them. Even small little Rhode Island, a freckle on the neck of the personified nation. They all deserved their star on the many wildly-waving flags below, reflecting the stars twinkling in the heavens.
Some had been with him from the very beginning. Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, Rhode Island. The United States of America found himself naming each one with the boom of a firework.
Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, Louisiana, Indiana, Mississippi, Illinois, Alabama, Maine, Missouri, Arkansas. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. He closed his blue eyes, the same color of the Great Lakes.
Michigan, Florida, Texas, Iowa, Wisconsin, California, Minnesota, Oregon, Kansas, West Virginia, Nevada, Nebraska, Colorado. A sparkler shot up with a scream, bursting and scattering into five groups of ten points of light.
He didn't even mind the "illegal" firecrackers so much tonight. Sure, there had to be regulations of what type and where for safety. But as long as no one was completely stupid, officials seemed to be just a little bit lenient if you were shooting off rockets from your backyard. North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, Washington, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, Alaska, Hawaii. Boom-budda-budda-boom. A handful of noisemakers went off all at once, finishing America's list with more to spare. That made him smile. More states? He hadn't had any new additions in a long time. Well, he supposed there was always room for more…
One firework blazed across the black canopy of the night in a straight line, tailing a stream of light behind it. America made an appreciative noise. What was the view like up there? It would be an even rarer sight now, seeing as NASA's space program was cut. That's right…this night wasn't just for remembering the past. It was also for the present, the events affecting him right now. Atlantis would be the final trip of a space shuttle for a while. The budgets were merciless at the moment, and the Constellation program had been completely cut.
As always, the fact made Alfred angry. It was every hero's dream to go to space! Now it was being put on hold until further notice. Until further notice. He sulked, mulling it over. Until I get off my fat butt and create jobs, erase debt, and become the Land of Opportunity again. He projected his angry gaze far into the atmosphere. Then it softened. He did love those stars. And exploring and discovering the universe he had such a small part in. NASA would certainly do wonders with their other projects but…Alfred still felt that he had failed somewhat.
Heroes fail too. And they are never happy about it.
He had no idea how long it was until he noticed the planets. Not the ones in space, but the ones dying the sky with liquid flames. "Oh, sweet!" America exclaimed. These were always fun! Above the nation's head, a firework produced a yellow orb, with a purple ring through the middle. Next to that Saturn sparked Neptune, with Jupiter close behind. How did they do that? Create fireworks in the shape of things? After a few globes, a shower of red gave way to a heart. All the while, a country kept watch from below.
Contrasting with his previous mood, the next shape to appear was a smiley face. America laughed. Just what he needed! That would be the best firework to get hit by in a plane, he decided. The next smiley was unfortunately upside-down, but it was an amusing error. Down and to the right, a pyrotechnic hamburger appeared, as if just for Alfred.
But nothing lasts forever. Not smiles, not hamburgers, not countries, and certainly not firework shows. But they at least go out with a bang.
All the remaining rockets were launched in a deafening display. Screamers followed sparklers followed weeping willows followed the last heart of the night. People in the crowd and on their roofs cheered. Every firecracker gave its all to shine and be seen, blossoming like flowers in a bouquet. America could only watch and hold on through the incessant booms.
Eventually the colors began to shift. Colors of red white and blue arced up, fire raining down. America's heart beat fast in patriotism, along with the gathered people. A final, blazing image was broadcast for all to see—A huge American flag.
The country and citizen's cheers resounded. Sparkling and strong, there it stood. Alfred F. Jones let his old grin show on his face. That's right…this historic night was not only for people to remember the past, but to celebrate who he was today; and also to hope for eventually more history to celebrate! 235 years was awfully young for a country after all… Lit by the light of a flag of fireworks, he smiled toward the future, and wondered what it would be like to be 1235…
Later that night, the young man felt the celebrations continue to his West Coast as he prepared for a sleep full of stars and dreams. The sound of the car-alarm aftermath still echoed in his ears. An airplane droned by overhead.
He laid his head on a pillow and relaxed, the sky still shooting up.
Please review, tell me what you think of my silly figurative language! XD And also George Washington is totally the best father ever.