A/N: WHY YES. I AM WRITING ANOTHER DRABBLE FIC. Why? Because somehow, me plus Hetalia cannot equal a proper story without it being stupid. This one's just a lot of unconnected, random drabbles. No pairings, will have a warning if there is.
Title: Future
Characters: America
Warnings: Angst? Sort of?
Length: 211 words
Things are so different now. When he looks out the window, no longer can he see rolling hills and countryside, untouched land that seemed to last forever. It seemed infinite once. But no longer.
Now all he can see is the cities, growing bigger every day, see the once blue skies tainted by the smog, the smoke, the things the cities expel because they don't want them anymore, expel without ever once wondering if, perhaps, the rare, still forested lands, want them instead.
No. They're hardly considerate of such things. It doesn't matter to them, not to the cities with their concrete and glass and things that will last forever and are permanent - but, ah. Didn't the Indians, upon setting up their homes, think that, forever, this home will last forever? Nothing can last forever, that much he knew. Everything must, in time, fall and give way to something new.
To something that claims to be better. That claims to know what's best for the land, like a concerned little mother doting over her children. Claims to know what's best, sets it in action, then falls back and, like him, just watches as it runs its course, just watches as 'the cold unyielding concrete makes a city of my town.'