Matthew stood in front of the mirror of the bathroom, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the ugly bags under them. The nation could not sleep at all last night.
He was unsure why this night contrasted so distinctly from the previous ones. If one could examine why the boy was acting up, why his expressions were sullen at times, and why the once careful young lad, looked at the world as as a whimsical tale of frustration and whimsical imagination, he suppose they would simply not care.
They would not care because of their monotone lives. His eyes, once a window to his hopes of attention, his will for love, was now guarded; blacked out by the injustices of this world.
They would not care because of their haughtiness. Their prideful displays of power, of need, of desire, overshadowed the small before them. They will 'accidentally', miss the starving youth, the washed-up performers, the suffering persons in their lives.
They would not care if even the boy standing in front of his mirror, wanting the hate to end, wanting the feuds to cease, wanting to be noticed by those he love, was hurting.
But of course they wouldn't care, they were human. But as a representative of them, of those who mocked others, belittling them and putting them down, he sympathized with them.
But of course, that made him more human then them.
There were thoughts swarming around his barren room; thoughts of bitterness and resentment, replacing his usual quiet expression.
But he did not mind, he relished it, in fact. By enjoying these thoughts, it brought up unpleasant memories that he wished to subside.
He remembered a time when his innocence was colorful, when his life was simple and carefree.
Like an barrel of golden poppies, he once shined so brightly to the world. He once was a leading player, who demanded no respect, no fame, just love.
But that was a time ago. Now, he was dried up- his once abundant, flowing steams, were now overfilled to the brim, by banks of constricted pressure.
He wished to lucky, to be careless, but he could not:
He is not a human, but a nation. He had responsibilities to establish, images to uphold.
There was no rest being a country. Just as there are pressures to face.
Pressure. He studied that word, that bold word that slid harmlessly off his tongue.
Pressure, such an ironic word. Normal pressure was common in this day, with the mundane peoples trying to make a living in this world. But with all their flaws, and all their imperfections, humans were the luckier creatures.
They did not have to face the pressure that came with this broken world. No matter how disrupting or painful their lives could be, it paled in comparision with the life of a nation.
Pressure to live, not like the world, but as a vessel of unforgiving indictment.
Pressure to learn, not for leisure sport, but for tragedies from the past.
Pressure to lead, not such for authority, but as a means for man to know right from wrong.
They are only little, of the differences that separates man from alien.
That separates humans from nations.
Humans prove their intellectual superiority to the other creatures that walk among side them, but the fact that they can do wrong, proves their moral inferiority to any creatures that cannot.
He finds himself spinning, spinning uncontrollable, helpless to the outside world. He sees a memory so powerful, so luring, that he cannot silence it. It erupts, so fiercely, he falls back. For that moment, he loved the silence.
Spinning, endlessly, all he saw was an array of yellow seas.
Bronze, silver, an occasional gold gearing up waves, crashing into one another. The colors were determined to mix, to mingle with their companions, pressing into its neighbor, continuing their cycle once more. They tried their hardest to interact- to make their associates stir loudly, like an shining cauldron of light. When they stilled, ceasing their movements for rest, they tossed in the night, making their moon's light glisten off the reflections of the sea, turning the air around them calm.
If one looked at them long enough, it may make them dizzy.
Matthew only found it beautiful. He loved listening to the little tunes of the water against shifting boats when they collided. That sharp creak from the water when a lone ship turned, tugging on a chain that creaked as it moved, followed the motion through to an rusty anchor at the other end.
He listened to the sound. The melodic sound was heard differently to him.
To the weary sailor, it was a sign of relief. That his job was done, that progress had been made that day, and that he would hopefully find rest.
But for Matthew, the sound was a warning. No longer was the sound calming and warranted for peace, but now for a long strife, lingering on for a great time, waiting for its time of surrender.
He could not remember how many times he was here- The sea had seemed endless, no movement except the one in front of him seemed to catch his eye.
He remembered how long ago it was when he discovered this place. He assumed that just like humans, nations had their own spots were they seclude themselves in.
For him, it was every year.
Every year…
Unbeknownst to any humans…
Blackened mist shrouds the moon for one single night…
Mortal eyes are blinded to the brightened seas…
But during those short hours…
Basking in the mystical light…
'We' thrive.
And in one certain year…
He couldn't finish that thought. Because now there was a disturbance, now there was a sharp cut in the silence.
Nothingness.
Cognition.
Darkness.
He couldn't see! There was no longer a bright light. No longer a stirring sea. Now there was noise.
That evil sight. That gloomy sight! It would scare away his peace. He needed to stop it; he needed to contain it...
Futile were his efforts. As he tried to contain the sight, he attempted to add color to the dark colors, in hopes to brighten his sight once more.
But he couldn't do it. He couldn't contain the darkness.
Their touch was cold. Its slender arms slid down his being, enveloping him in its embrace. With the darkness, there came sorrow. There came fear. Paranoia drifted at him and he wanted nothing more to curl up in himself, waiting for his silence. Recognizing his efforts were in vain, he tried to sleep; he was too tired, but he found he was unable to.
Time passed, and yet he could not fall asleep. It appeared that whatever force was preventing him from rest wanted to interact with him of a sorts.
Fine, he would.
His eyeballs rolled under their lids. The right, then the left… His rigid jaw creaked, bone dry mouth swallowing. His stiff joints grated together as he squirmed under the grainy, heavy pressure. It was heavy every time he 'woke up.' How long has it been since that last time? He couldn't move. Every single time, he couldn't move. His skin was freezing, but he did not feel the cold. His toes wriggled against much resistance. His fingers dug into his surrounding; they were itching to dig. Instincts were telling him to break free, but he had never tried to. There was no point, as he would die soon anyway- or so he had thought the last dozens of times.
He had lost count already. Not that he was counting anyway.
He lay on his side, in the same awkward, curled-up position he had been for the past god-knows-how-long. This time also, he would just lie there until he drifted back into oblivion. Boring as hell. At first he had thought he would only stay 'awake' for a bit, but once he had tried counting the seconds, he found out it was a whooping eight hours. The realization made him dread the passing time even more.
Maybe this time he should go do something instead of lying here. He should have come to term with this ever since he'd 'woken up' the for the third, or even the second time, but he wasn't going to die. It seemed he had some kind of ridiculous immortal body. How long had he been here waiting for a death that wouldn't come?
Maybe he should try to look for a light source, or perhaps a navigator. No one would help him if he did not try to move.
Despite his diatribe, he strangely didn't feel anger at his situation. He had been lying here for too long to care anymore, and actually felt a sort of triumph that he had bested death. If he had considered moping about a few 'awakenings' before, it might have sounded like a good reason to climb out of his grave. But now…
He was silent.
He wanted to do something to refresh his mind. The muscles on his cheek twitched. He wanted to see the light once more until it mysteriously vanished again...
That was it! He could go find that light, make a friend and catch up with the times – provided that he could find someone willing to speak to him. He must look terrible now. Well, even in his state, he was quite refreshed. For now…
He had to find a way to get out!
He felt around for an object. Whatever the object was, it could give away his location. His tiny fingers felt around for anything. The darkness made it harder for him to figure out his next step, but he persisted on. His fingers clamped around something rough... It was hard to poke anything in it, so he knew the object had to be firm. Carefully, he moved the object to his face and smelt it...
It smelt like the sea.
With a small smile, he guessed that the object had to be dirt. Where else would dirt smell like the ocean?
His eyes snapped opened for the first time in ages – his lids almost not wanting to part. It was no different from when he had it closed: darkness. His limbs tensed up as he tried to exert the strength he remembered he had. It was hard, but the heavy soil was undoubtedly giving way. His right hand was first, pushing up through the dirt. Push. He could already feel the wind flowing through his fingers. His emotions had done him the favor of burying him shallowly. A wryly smile curled his sere lips.
He clawed at the ground, making way for his head to rise. Dirt wedged into his empty eye-socket, but he didn't mind. It didn't hurt. Nothing did. His arm propped behind him, his head finally emerged from the ground.
He was finally out.
He looked everywhere for a clue that revealed where he was. His eyes burned from being in the darkness for so long. But he did not mind; he wanted to know where he was. Looking closely around him, he saw objects and useless metal, none of what would be a use for him.
As time passed, and the light glared down at him, he sat down, letting fatigue overtake him.
With his rest, he saw where he was: An abandoned bay. He peered down to look at his clothing: it was sandy. That must have been what he smelt.
He peered around, and looked up ahead. The waves glided slowly around the ocean. The bright sun made a way for the water to appear glossy, a sharp contrast to what he saw in the darkness.
Darkness...
For a moment, he wished for the darkness to come back. With the absence, he could reflect, he could plan, he could imagine. He was never alone, his thoughts were all he needed. In the darkness, he could be silent, hearing the darkened sea turn still. He could predict the movements of the darkness, because he was familiar with it.
But with the light... that bright light, he was scared. In the light, there was suppose to be comfort. There was suppose to be relief, and courage. But he did not have that. He lacked the relief, because he was always uppity, on high alert. Similarly, he lacked the courage to help himself, he was always alone. He couldn't predict how the day would turn out. He couldn't make his movements as smoothly as the reckless sea. Nor, could he make it bright, or full of hope.
He couldn't predict what the day would bring in its rise.
He started to lose hope, to lose courage again, but he noticed the light once more.
The light that kept him strong. The light that guided him out of the ground. The light that was his unknown savior.
His heart beat raced when he saw the light approaching. The light shined and grew stronger as it approached him.
He couldn't look at anymore. But when his eyes settled down, when he was no longer shaking in awe, and open fear, he opened his eyes.
He found the source of the light.
Wheat. He saw yellow peering down at him.
He lifted his gaze up the small body of the being in front of him. A little boy had his back to him. His short mane of seamless wheat flew messily in the wind, ethereal locks fluttering. He whipped around as though sensing his presence. That was when Matthew saw his eyes.
Large, glowing orbs of cyan as blue peered down at him in excitement.
He wasn't human. His smooth ears protruded at the top of his head. His small face was adorned with the most delicate features he had ever seen – skin tanned as wheat-fields, a dusty little nose and cracked pink lips. And he was half-naked, with only white cloth covering his back, and an elegant white hat gracing his head. Above the rustling pine trees, the preternatural heavenly body shone down on him, and his young body seemed to glow in the mysterious light, beautifully pale.
The boy was like him. The boy looked exactly like him. Was he a friend? A potential rescuer?
Matthew's thoughts were swirling. He was unsure what to do.
He wanted to speak to the boy, to say thank you for releasing him from his prison. His voice, he found, was hoarse from being without use. Looking up, he asked the boy why he was here, but the boy did not answer.
He only stared.
That was when Matthew noticed the distinct differences between the boy and himself: the boy was spotless, and clean. He was dirty and covered in dirt. The boy's eyes glistened in the sun's rays, while his remained clouded and dark. The boy was full of curiosity, he... he was full of desire.
Matthew's analysis quickly determined that this boy was well off. That he did not seem lost, or in need of help. He did not seem ungrateful or hiding his smile under a fake blanket. This boy's joy shined brightly. Like the sun.
Matthew was grateful that neither of them spoke. He did wish to ruin this moment with speech. There are some situations that do not require verbal expression.
The boy seemed to agree with him, because his attention was no longer on Matthew. Instead, it was it was directed to the ground before them.
He peered down but was confused at what he was meant to see. Nothing. There was nothing there. Matthew wondered if this boy was like him, having his thoughts wander aimlessly, but shook that away.
He didn't need anyone whose feet were not grounded.
But still he was curious. With slow caution, he glanced down. But he was startled when he saw movement above him.
Before he could say anything, before he could reach out to touch the boy, the boyturned and darted away from him, the light source disappearing.
Matthew did not follow him. He did not run after the boy. He only looked down.
A single button was laid in front of him. The button of the boy.
He stared at it. The white button stared at him, and he slowly crouched down to pick it up. It reflected from him face smoothly.
He did move from his position, nor did he wish to sleep.
He only stared down at the button.
This time, he found a new source of light.
Matthew awoke with a startle.
The morning sunlight pierced through the dense canopies of leaves, awakening his senses. Instead of the familiar earthy smell of grass, what tickled his nose was the distinctive light he had familiarized himself with. He felt around his body. It was no longer heavy. No longer shrouded with darkness, or sandy beaches. It was just warm. He opened his hands, there was faded scratch marks encased in his palms.
He marveled at it. How could an event so long ago, still be scarred on him, a nation?
The nation opened his palm once more. Staring across from him, was the white button of the boy.
He did not stir, only marvel at the sight. 'How did it get there? How was it placed there?' The questions rung throughout his mind, but he had no clear explanation.
He glanced at the button. That button that was left for him.
The button was stitched up. There hung loosely, was the thread of the boy's shirt. That thin thread was flowing freely throughout the cool room.
'Freely'. The word brought up the memory of the boy. The boy who looked like him, who helped him, who left him.
His hands curled into a fist. The boy had left him, and yet...
Yet, he was grateful.
The boy had saved him, the boy had cared for him, and treated him well. That boy...that boy.
He was still here; his friend was still here and it pleased him greatly. At last, there was someone who accepted him, who would stay with him.
He reminisced with dismay at that thought. The boy who took great pride in loving him, when he didn't love himself, was revealed to be his brother.
His brother who was the hero. His brother with the beautiful blue eyes. His brother who was his savior.
He removed himself from his position, stretching his aching bones. He moved towards the mirror, the mirror that started it all.
He stared at himself. Wheat hairs. Violet eyes. Golden smile. All wiped away because of his frustrations.
Because of his mirror.
Not because of the reflection in his mirror, no, it was because of another reflection.
His twin brother.
There was the problem. There was the reason why he was unhappy. Why he constantly dreamed hazardous dreams, why he sought to erase himself from his brother's image.
His brother was the reason he was like this.
He noticed the white button. The white button that reflected in the transparent glass.
White. Pure. Closed. Complete. Traits that made up his brother. Traits that made his brother shine perfectly in the presence of the world. Perhaps that's why he was the hero.
The spotless button glistened brightly in his midst. It wasn't dirty. It wasn't smudged. It didn't have marks or scratches on it. It was simply spotless.
Unlike him.
He listened to the water streaming down his face. The clean, still water that smoothly ran down his face.
It was clear. It was clean. It contained no traces of impurity. Of dirt, or filth.
It reminded him of the water. The grime that ran down his body, reminded him of the dirt.
Brown dirt.
Brown cloths.
Brown hair.
Alfred.
Matthew frowned, the water was starting to turn cold.
He quickly turned off the water, and peered at the mirror once more.
'Alfred's little brother.' 'France's abandoned son' 'Arthurs's youngest.' 'Cuba's' friend.' 'The loud-mouthed's twin.' 'America's neighbor.' 'Alfred's replica.' 'Mexico's cousin.' 'Alfred's clone.' 'That nice country' 'The nation above the U.S.'
Those comments. The words echoed in Mathew's head flawlessly. He did not miss the pattern.
His name was never mentioned.
It was always another's name. It was always a mispronunciation. It was always a comparison.
He was always sidelined. Always tossed around. Always missed.
He was always the clone. He was always, the younger twin. He was always Alfred's replacement.
He roughly grabbed his face. He did not care if he had scratches on his face. He needed to know.
Who was he?
As he made faces after another. As he contorted his eyebrows, glided his shoulders, re positioned his hair, he always reproduced the same result.
He was a perfect clone of his brother.
'Isn't it normal for children to look like their siblings? We're twins after all.'
Even with his optimism, he couldn't deny the fact that he was his brother.
'Why do they do that? Isn't it easier to call me by my name?'
Matthew.
Canada.
Matthew.
Canada.
No matter how many times he repeated it, no matter how hard he tried, he was still his brother.
The once quiet nation, was angry. He was his personal being. He was an individual. He was a nation. But they did not agree.
He looked at the button once more. The white button that was supposed to tell him that he was himself. That he was respected. That he was cared for.
It did no such thing.
With enraged eyes, he bared his fist, watching it smash into the bathroom mirror.
He did not pick up the broken shards. He did move an inch.
He only stared at the white button.
The button that was white white his tears.
The button that was the soul of his brother.
The button that was stained red with his blood.
A/N:
Hello. As with my other works, I will provide explanations for my work, so please read it.
The beginning of the story opens with Matthew peering in a mirror. As you know, mirrors are reflections of someone's appearance. In the beginning, Matthew looked intensely at the mirror, trying to figure out what he saw himself as. In the second paragraph, he wondered why the previous night contrasted so differently from the previous ones. The reason why is because unlike other nights, he was not concerned with his appearance. He was not concerned on why he looked like his brother. Because of this, worrying why he looked like brother, he made himself frustrated and anxiety took over him. He affirmed to himself that they, his brother, his family, and the world community would not care about him, as they did not many times before. He believed that because of their lives as nations, they have more important matters to attend to. Which they do, truthfully. He is full of anger and jealousy as a result of this, directing his attention to the humans of the Earth. Again, he confirmed to himself that because they, humans and nations alike, were selfish individuals, he was not like them. But of course, affirming this to himself, only made him sympathize with the humans more.
The second part of the story, is an introduction to the main portion of the story. This portion starts with Matthew saying that their are pressures that come with being a nation, rather unpleasant experiences that come with it. He also talks about how humans have the easy way out, and the nations, always face tragedy and hurt when they are doing their job. When they are representing their people. He calls these concepts and ideas that he has, foreign. Foreign peoples, foreign ideas, foreign nations. He tells of how nations are different from humans, how they are aliens in their own rights when they are forced to deal with unpleasant, and quite controversial decisions that affect their people, and ultimately themselves.
The third part, mainly the main setting of the story, starts off with Matthew seeing yellow seas. They are beautiful, and look nice, bringing him towards it. He's calm at this moment, watching the seas joyfully. The seas are smooth and clean, not rough or quick like in storms. This portion means that Matthew is joyful and calm. It is peaceful. It is silent, and there are no troubles to be wary of. Suddenly, a boat appears. It is anchored into the sea by a dusty anchor. What this means is that since the anchor is rusty, it is old, worn out. It's job for supporting objects is difficult for it to handle, eventually causing it to break away. This is what Matthew sees when it is dropped abruptly. He goes back into his refuge, the yellow seas, only to find them not there. He panics when he sees darkness surrounding him. The darkness is cold to touch, and causes him pain. This references to his state of mind at this point, shifting dangerously and recklessly. Soon, he exerts himself and grows weary. Before he falls asleep, he sees a light. He wonders about this light, and it causes him to keep his mind awake. Since he can't see in the darkness, he feels around, eventually coming to the conclusion that he was on a beach of some sort. He was drifted away by the storm, and knocked into the sea, explaining his darkness. When he landed on shore, he was covered in dirt, and buried alive. This explains why he couldn't breathe. When he finally gets out, he explores his surroundings. When he couldn't find a way to leave the beach, he gave up. He eventually sees a light coming towards him. When he backs away, the light is revealed to be a boy. He notices the boy and soon starts being grateful to him. Although the boy doesn't talk, in the end, he gives him a button, signifying that he would always be with him.
Lastly, the fourth part explains that Matthew fell asleep, and brought up an old memory. He sees the white button and wonders how its got there, before leaving to the bathroom. He sees the grime and dirt from his body being cleaned up, and its reminds him of the boy he met, who was his brother. His brother's name brings up an identity crisis within him. In the end, he cracks the mirror, and sees the button, which was stained white, now red, signifying that he destroyed his innocence, breaking down.
Wow, that was long! Sorry for the long explanation, I got a little carried away! Anyway, thank you for the read, and go check out my other stories! See you later!
-Enchanting Grace