A/N: This is another dark write, full of angst, pain, suffering, personified America, depression, and suicide.
The throbbing in my head is becoming unbearable. It hurts like a vice slowly compressing. Nothing I take makes it go away. I guess it's from all the yelling, the fighting, the hate spreading through my country right now. Christ, make it stop. Hurts like hell. But it doesn't stop. If anything, it gets worse. I feel like Ivan bashed me in the back of the head a few too many times. Fuck. I'm tired of this. I can't sleep. The pain makes my stomach uneasy, so I don't eat. I'm just misrable. I hate it. The pain's in my chest, too. A mixture of being on fire and being stabbed, both where my heart is. Washington D.C. isn't doing too well. Government is falling apart, falling in on itself, and the people aren't happy. Too much sorrow and pain in the streets. It's moments like this I wish I could die.
I came home to silence. Strange. Wasn't Tony home? I hurt, but searched around anyways. The little alien was no where to be found. I sighed and put away my stuff, shuffling into my room and putting my suitcase down. Eased the tie from around my neck and tossed it on the floor. Kicked my shoes off. Traded a button-up dress shirt for a grey t-shirt. Swapped dress pants for pj pants. The silence- It was almost too much. I went back out into the den and switched on the TV, just so I could have some noise. Silence was uncanny. It felt unnatural. It felt wrong. Quietly, the screen buzzed to life. Even the gentle noise was too loud on my head. More debates. More hate crimes. More anger with no clear target just being taken out on everyone. I sighed and went to the kitchen to snag a beer. It dulled the pain, if only for a little while. I felt so empty, so hollow. I needed a reason, but I just couldn't think of one. For the longest time, I was the hero. I was the country who saved the others, a strong power to fight against. I won my independance from England and ended two World Wars. I got Japan to open his boarders to Western trade.
There came and passed the Great Depression. I know the feeling of sinking so low, you'd feel it'd be easier to just sit there and let it take you. That almost happened with the first one, but some how I managed. I can feel myself sinking again. Times are becoming harder and harder. People are more selfish now. Vain, too. They want everything in exchange for nothing. It doesn't work that way. Not correctly, at least. You can't get something for nothing. Someone has to pay.
Always in pain. Always hurting. Can't the others see it? Or is it guarded too well behind foolish smiles. No. I'm sure they've noticed. I've distanced myself from them. It hurts too much to keep any of them company. I always feel so close to snapping, to becoming something I hate. I curled up onto my bed and curled up under the blanket into a tight ball. Alone. I'm alone. I'm always alone. Shakey alliances, at best. They didn't like him personally. No. They just wanted to get close long enough to use him. I closed my eyes and at that point, I could only hear the beating of my heart and the screaming inside my head.
Constant agony over many years, voices screaming as shootings spread and violence ensued, changed me. I found it harder and harder to smile for real. My days were listless. What was the point? Was a painful existance better than none at all? I'd rather be numb. Then, if I felt pain, it'd be by my own choice. Not this daily onslaught of pain. Pain. Pain. Intensified by soldiers out at war cruelly treated.
"Just make it stop. Please. I'll do anything." I found myself mumbling to no one, surprised to find it was true. I'd do anything to make it stop. It only grew worse and worse. I no longer went out. I didn't eat. Drank, but even that was rare now. I didn't sleep. The nightmares left me aching even worse. "Anything at all. Just make it stop." I felt sick to my stomach, like I was going to puke despite nothing being in there. So exausted, I was shaking. My hands were racked with jitters. My chest felt like it was on fire. It was as if someone poured lava in there. As if someone took a sharp, hot, iron poker and pushed it through my chest and into my heart.
Despair. I feel into this and stopped struggling to get out. I let it wash over me, accepting the pain as reality. I wanted to escape reality. I wanted to go somewhere the pain couldn't. I wanted to leave it behind. I didn't talk to anyone anymore. I didn't leave the house, didn't stray far from my room. I just laid in bed all day and night, sometimes staring out the window at the sky. Sometimes at the floor of my room. I can't say when I snapped, but I did.
The little handgun was in the dresser drawer, I was sure of it. When nothing else would give relief, would that? My whole body was racked with shivers. I was so cold and it hurt even to do this simple movement. It hurt to breathe. I leaned over the edge of the bed, reached for the drawer, and pulled out the silver release. Smooth. Cold. Even more so than me. I didn't think it possible. I pulled back the chamber, heard and saw a round click into place. Wasn't my heart supposed to be racing? Wasn't I supposed to be nervous? I pressed the gun into my mouth. I could taste the oil from long ago. Such a pretty little gun. Serves its purpose well. I sat back against the wall on my bed, tears beading up in my eyes. Relief! Finally! Peace was just seconds away! I was able to smile when I pulled the trigger.
Unfortunately, my country was too large, too important, for me to just die like that. I opened my eyes hours later, saw the blood staining the wall. I could only laugh, a high pitched crazy sound that did no favors to my tortured head, and cock the gun again. Yes. This was better. I was actually getting some rest, now, even if only for a little while.