((Hey look and actual honest to God de-anon. Also probably the only one. I'm sorry about this.))
She hated England. His hair, his tea, that sweater vest, those eyebrows,
and how he stole her people without a second though, as if it were okay.
It wasn't okay.
She felt lost some days, empty inside, vaguely sick. If she were whole, if everyone were here, she could fix herself. She could get better, if they would stop killing each other all the time.
And England let them enter.
He'd always been after her people, of course. When he owned half the world and needed people, hers had been first on the list.
But she always thought back to what her grandmother had told her, about the times before nations. The world had been young then, before humans spread to the far corners of the Earth. Her grandmother would tell her how those before her lived off only what they found, and left when there was no more. There were still some who lived that way, of course, though most countries were trying to exterminate it. (There were rumors that the last representative of the Bushmen was in hiding, slowly dying. No one could prove this, as no one could find him. Most thought he was already dead, the body dissolved into the earth as their bodies do.)
Her grandmother told stories of a great migration, from the East, to the South, to the North.
Her grandmother was the grandmother to a lot of nations. She sometimes saw them born herself – even made a few: scooped from earth and water and dust of their new land. She had to kill some, too, when they were too weak, or the environment too harsh.
She died before she could show her what a strong nation she could be, though. But she also died before she was weak.
Before England ruined everything.
He knew what Poland was talking about now, when he'd complained of feeling empty.
(But Poland was always complaining about something.)
Of course, he'd felt it before. More times than he should have, probably.
It'd just been a while.
So he'd wander the halls of too-big, too-empty house, feeling weak and tired and sick. He wasn't as strong as he was. He wasn't as strong as he should have been.
But there just weren't enough people.
He tried filling it up (his hole) with drink and food and warm, had contests, but nothing helped. They'd left, or died, or he'd killed them.
There just weren't enough people.
Sometimes he felt so full he couldn't bear it. He loved it, sure, that everyone wanted him and wanted to live there, that they still saw him as the Land of Opportunity, but.
Was he losing himself?
No, that was stupid of course not! He was just changing is all, that's what they did!
But sometimes, he thought 'Jones' wasn't a good enough name, that it didn't describe him very well. When he thought about it though, picking a name from every country living in him would make a really long name. So maybe that wasn't such a good idea. And hey, it was like 'keeping up with the Jones'', right? Everyone was trying to do that, after all.
He was fine. He was still the best ever.
((I don't mean any offense to anyone, and I don't really know what I'm doing. Sorry it's so vague, I couldn't decide who I wanted for the first one, so I didn't, really. Well, there are a few choices on who it could be. As for the second two, I think they should be pretty obvious?))