Whoo, just in time for Halloween. I gotta warn you though, this fic is fucked up. Standard crack warning applies. There is also brief necrophilia. Also, I just want to say that while there is sex in this fic, it is not very sexy.

This got a little too long so I split it in half. This is the first half of the fic. I will post the second half tomorrow.

Written in America's POV.

X

"It's peanut butter jelly time! Peanut butter jelly time~!" I sung happily. I was in the kitchen, making myself a sammich. "Peanut butter jelly! Peanut butter jelly! Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat!"

I shook the jar in one hand and the knife in the other like they were maracas, and I was a dancing banana. I'm assuming y'all have seen that dancing banana, if not, what, did you just discover the internet or something? It's been around since like 2000.

"Now where he at! Where he at!" I sung, shaking my improvised maracas. "Where he go! Where he go!"

Such deep lyrics.

But I couldn't remember the rest of them, so I went back to making my sammich. I finished up and was like MMM that looks good. I scooped the knife one last time in the jar and licked it. If you're wondering if I was tasting from the jelly jar or the peanut butter jar, well guess what! IT'S BOTH! Smuckers makes a combination peanut butter and jelly jar … thing. It's both in one jar! Because scooping from two jars is just too much work. This is a real thing, by the way. Look for it next time you go to Wal*mart or Krogers or the Piggly Wiggly or wherever you buy your foods.

"Mmm, yeah."

That wasn't me.

I looked over, my tongue still on the knife, to see England leaning on the kitchen doorway. Wearing nothing but his undies.

"You should lick me just like that," said England. He was watching my tongue.

England had been staying with me for a few days. Today was his last day, though. In a few hours I'd have to drive him to the airport to fly back home.

"Come back to bed," he purred, giving me that look that means he wants to get sexy. "Let's have a bit more fun before I have to leave, eh?"

Damn was England insatiable! I guess because this trip was the first time we had seen each other in a while. We had sex so many times since he got here a few days ago! Like three times a day! Is that a lot? It felt like a lot. I got tired. I was still very tired. We were up late last night doing it, and then England woke me up early this morning for even MOAR. Then we slept a little longer, and I woke up first, and went to the kitchen. Nothing like a PB&J after a BJ!

I tossed the knife in the sink. "Aw, come on. I'm tiiiiired …" I whined.

"But it's my last day."

I sat at the table with my plate. "Fine, okay! Lemme just eat my sammich first."

"Very well then." And then England sat down at the table with me. Which was weird, because he still wasn't wearing anything but his underwear. "But do hurry."

I nommed on my sammich. "I got a surprise for you," I said.

"Oh?" said England slyly. "What could it be?"

I stopped chewing mid-bite when I felt England's hand on my thigh.

"You want to try something different, hmm?" he said. His hand inched higher up my inner thigh. "A new position? New move? New toy? My imagination is running wild now …"

I'd never been felt up while eating PB&J before. I wanted to reply, but the roof of my mouth was too sticky.

"You're always so vanilla in the bedroom," continued England. "I'm happy you're becoming more adventurous."

I managed to swallow down the peanut butter wad. "I'm not vanilla, you're just a pervert! Always wanting to try weird things like spanking my ass with a ruler or licking tea off me."

"Those aren't weird things!"

"YES THEY ARE!"

Boy was England gonna be disappointed by my surprise :/ It had nothing to do with penises or asses or sex at all!

Well, maybe it kinda had something to do with penises. It all started a long time ago when I was at England's house, and I was like, what's that nasty smell? And England said, "My spotted dick. Would you like to try it?"

I was like WHOOOOAA THERE! Spotted? Last I checked they ain't supposed to be spotted! If they're spotted, something's wrong, and it's time for some penicillin.

But then I learned that in England, 'spotted dick' is a kind of pudding! PUDDING! And I use that term loosely, just like British people do. They call anything sweet over there 'pudding' even if it's not pudding. (Real pudding = Snack Packs) I really don't know what it was, you guys. It looked like a mushy cake or something. It even comes in cans over there! And they make fun of MY food? PSSSH! Y'all got canned pudding-cake-crap and we got 'Cake Boss' the awesome TV show. The winner is me.

Anyway, England LOVES spotted dick. It's one of his favorites. And since he's always bitching about my food, I thought I'd make him some. Partly because I'm a nice guy like that :)

But mostly just so I could make dick jokes, NGL. Like, "Hey, England, wanna try my delicious spotted dick?" and "You love my spotted dick in your mouth, don't you?" and "Why are you spitting out my spotted dick?" (That last one was if he said I didn't make it right and he spit it out.)

The spotted dick was currently steaming. I sure hope I did that right. It said to steam it for two hours! I ain't no cook. Usually the most advanced I get with cooking is when I have to put my Lunchables together. And yeah, that's cooking! Because I put mine in the microwave sometimes.

I sure hoped England liked his surprise! I put a lot of hard work into making it. Not just the preparation, but also, every recipe I found was in metric and that was so annoying to have to make Siri convert it for me.

"I sure hope you're hungryyy~" I said. I was gonna tell him the surprise, hehe!

"Ugh, not for something like that." England had his lip curled in disgust, nodding towards my sammich. "You yanks are the only ones who think peanut butter and jam together is a good combination."

"… huh? What are you saying?"

"You didn't know your country is the only one who likes 'PB&J,' as you call it?"

"GASP!" I gasped. "No, I didn't!"

How could someone not like PB&J? ! It's the best sammich ever! What the hell is wrong with other countries? ! Here we love PB&J so much that we made it a flavor for all sorts of things! Like ice cream and cookies and crackers and vodka! Yeah, even PB&J flavored vodka! That made Russia weep.

Maybe now was not the best of times to tell England about my spotted dick surprise. Not when he was being a cranky fusspot bitching about my food. I'll tell him later.

I didn't have much time to tell him anyway. As soon as I finished my sammich, he grabbed me by the hand and drug me up the steps. To the bedroom. And pulled me onto the bed with him.

He'd fallen backwards onto the bed, so he was on his back. He'd pulled me on top of him, and was now pulling my face to his. To MAKE OUT.

England was being kinda pushy about this! You should have seen the way he kissed me. His tongue was being so aggressive all up in my mouth! It was so intense he even licked off that last bit of peanut butter that was stuck to the roof of my mouth. That ain't easy to do.

"Mmm," he said, parting our lips. He looked up at me with his eyes only half open. "I want to try something different this time."

"Nooo," I pouted. "That's not your surprise!"

"I just want to try it."

"No, let's just do it like normal people! I don't like freaky sex! Please don't give me a spankin'! I don't—"

He interrupted me by pulling my face back down to his. And making out on me.

Then I heard a RUSTLE RUSTLE and it was England scooting out his underwear. He got them off still laying under me, then shot them like a rubber band across the room.

We were still making out as his hands ran down my body and groped my ass.

"Mm," he said again, breaking the kiss. "How do you want to do it this time? Do you want to top, or shall I?"

That was my favorite multiple choice test ever. I always knew the answer! :D

"Dude, I so wanna top," I said.

"Good, I'm glad," he said, even though he was still groping my butt hardcore. It was like he was a Domino's guy and he was kneading pizza dough, except the dough was my butt. Not that I'm doughy or anything … "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Really? You usually prefer to top."

"Yes, but this is a special occasion."

Really? I didn't know that. Must be one of them Jewish holidays like Yom Kippur or something. I know England likes to eat Kippurs with his breakfast sometimes.

I got my pants off and my penis out and was ALL READY TO GOOOOOO!

"Oh boy!" I said. "I'm so excited!"

"Heh … and you wanted to postpone this for a damn sandwich."

"Hey, no dissing on the PB&J."

England was on his back, holding his legs spread wide with his arms under his knees, asking for it. "Go ahead," he said, smirking. "You don't even need lube. Your cum is still in there from earlier."

I think England thought that comment was hot. But all I could think is DAMN PURELL THAT ASS ALREADY. You're not supposed to leave it in there! Just like you're not supposed to leave wet clothes in the washing machine for too long. Or they get moldy. *THE MOAR YOU KNOW*

I spat on my hand and rubbed it on my cock anyway. England licked his lips, looking at me like how I look at PB&J's. Just like MMMM CAN'T WAIT TO GET THAT IN ME.

I wondered why England was being such a bitch today. Not the bad kind of bitch like he likes to complain all day. The GOOD kind of bitch where he likes to bottom. Normally he's all about trying to put his English spotted dick in my American chocolate Snack Pack. But not today! Also normally I'd be like OH BOY! TOPPING TIME FOR ME! And I kinda was, but I was less enthusiastic than usual because I was so goddamn tired.

England's eyes rolled to the back of his head when I sank myself inside him. "Oh, America …" he whimpered.

My muscles were all sore from last night but I banged him real good anyway! I just pushed through the pain. You know what they say! No pain no gain! I wanted to gain sex. And thus I did. I was definitely gonna need some Bengay tomorrow! That's why they call it Bengay. You need it after you've been gay with someone and your muscles are sore from having sex. LOL JUST KIDDING! But didn't that sound legit? Just like when I told gullible little Sealand Aspercreme is for people for Asperger's.

"Ohh …" England moaned, hooking his legs behind my back as I thrusted. He tried to push me deeper into him like that. "Just like that … yessss …"

"After … this …" I panted, humping like a boss, "I wanna … show you my … surprise …"

"Yes," England said very enthusiastically.

"Oh, yay! I'm glad … you're excited … because I worked really hard—"

"Yes, yes, yes," England continued in the same tone. Then I realized he wasn't even listening to me. He hadn't said 'yes' to wanting to see my surprise at all! :( He wasn't even looking at me. His head was to the side, making a very desperate face, eyes squeezed shut, obviously thinking about no more of me than my COCK. "Yes, yes …!" he whimpered.

"Hey, listen to me—"

"Oh God, I'm almost there!"

"Don't interrupt me! I hate being inter—"

"OHHHHHHH!" England moaned like Big Ben was about to strike midnight and go ding dong if ya know what I mean. He was getting all squirmy under me and I knew he was about to pop.

"What did I just—"

"OH GOD AMERICA!" England exclaimed, trembling from sexiness. "PUT YOUR HANDS AROUND MY NECK AND CHOKE ME!"

"You never listen and — WHAT THE FUDGE!" D:

"D-do it!" England's eyes looked crazy! Like he was friggin' insane! They were scaring me! "FUCKING CHOKE ME!"

"The hell? ! No way!"

I'd slowed my rhythm because come on, this was weird. Choke him? ? WTF?

"It's the thing I wanted to try," he said, still with crazy eyes. "That I told you about earlier."

"I ain't choking nobody!"

"It's called erotic asphyxiation. A lot of people do it."

"Not me!"

"FUCKING DO IT!"

D:

England was really scaring me. DOSE EYES. They looked like they could pierce through my soul, like Kristen Stewart's lifeless stare! But England sure wasn't lifeless. He was thrusting up all desperately and crazily trying to make up for my slowed rhythm. It was like he was possessed by a horny demon! And not just horny like they have horns. Horny like sexually too.

"No, that'll hurt you!" I said. Then I yelped in pain because he dug his nails deep into my back. "YIPE!"

"Listen here," he growled with scary determination like that guy in 'Taken' when he takes the phone from the bad guys and is like, 'I don't know who you are, blah blah blah'. You know. THAT scary." You are going to fucking do this," said England. "It's not optional."

"Noooo—"

"I'm so close, it will feel so good, now do it before I lose it."

"But—"

"FUCKING RIGHT NOW!"

"AHHHH!"

Now look, boys and girls. Don't judge me for what I did next. I was scared and caught up in the moment. And sometimes when people yell at you, you do things you don't normally do. Like choke them during sex.

I could barely still thrust while I did it. I wrapped my hands around his neck and just squeezed. Just a little. Just enough to feel the veins in his neck, and that's all it took. (For me to be thoroughly creeped the fuck out.)

"HARDER!" he demanded.

"I don't wannaaaa," I whined.

"Do it until I say to stop."

I gradually squeezed harder and harder. England started to get shaky under me. His lungs were like spasming. I was about to let go because that was freaking me out, but England managed to shake his head no and mouth the words 'keep going.'

His face was starting to turn purple. He clawed at the sheets below us, his legs kicked, and he kept jerking. He made these noises that sounded like the beginning of gasps but they didn't quite get all the sound out.

Then he went completely limp.

"OH CRAP!" I exclaimed. I quickly let go of his neck. "England, are you okay? !"

No response. His body was still completely limp. So was I if ya know what I mean. As soon as I felt England go still it was a one way ticket to flaccid town. I pulled out.

There were bruises in the shape of my hands already starting to show around his neck. You could see the finger indentations and everything! SHIZNIT! Just how hard did I squeeze him? ! I do have super-strength, after all. I think I went a little too far! And killed him! Damn my muscular hot bod! If only I wasn't so strong! I'd give up my muscles if I could take back what I did! Even if it meant I couldn't ask people anymore if they had tickets to the show. Then when they say 'what show?' I'd flex my muscles and go 'THE GUN SHOW!'

OH GOD I'M A MURDERER! D: Nancy Grace is gonna chew my ass out! Oh, and the cops might have something to say too.

I was crying like a baby when I heard it. England suddenly took a deep breath. I was so happy.

"OH ENGLAND!" I sobbed. "YOU'RE OKEY!"

And then he came the hardest I have ever seen him cum. He just blew like this super big load. His back arched and he moaned in a shaky voice and jizzed all over his stomach.

I just sat in pure disbelief :O

It kept coming and coming and he moaned the whole time. Finally he finished and collapsed against the bed with a heavy, exhausted, but satisfied sigh.

"That was …" he said in between breaths, "bloody amazing."

I was still crying :'D

X

England sat at my kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. He liked to smoke after sex. He was dressed now and waiting for me to get the surprise I'd told him about. His chair at the table was facing away from me, at the counter, getting it ready.

"Christ, that was a good shag," he said, blowing smoke from his cigarette. "Best I've had in a while."

"Uh, r-right." I was putting the spotted dick on a plate for England. It was a good thing he was turned away from me. My hands were still all shaky from earlier. That whole thing freaked me out!

"Sorry if I frightened you," he said, taking another drag. "I probably should have explained everything first. But I was afraid you wouldn't do it if I did."

"Y-yeah … you did freak me out a little." Okay truth time — I was gonna have nightmares for weeks :(

"Well, let me see if explaining it now helps you feel better. It's called erotic asphyxiation, like I told you before. You can do it by yourself or with a partner. Basically, one is choked or has someone else choke them, and the lack of oxygen to the brain causes a euphoric sensation."

"OH? ?" I said, still facing the counter and trembling.

"Yes. It produces a high," he said. "But its effects on sexual arousal and ejaculation have also been long known. It was actually discovered from public hangings centuries ago. People noticed that the men being hanged often had erections, and sometimes even ejaculated. Something about the lack of oxygen is very stimulating to the genitals."

"GEE THANKS FOR THE WIKIPEDIA ENTRY." Note to self: never, ever look this shit up.

"I just wanted to try it." England blew more smoke. Ugh, I hate smoking. Those ydoyouthink peoples had it right all along. Even though their campaign actually makes me try to think of reasons to smoke, but whatever. (Sneaky sneaky, Philip Morris!)

"W-well, ya got what you wanted. I guess." I finished getting the spotted dick ready. It looked disgusting. Just like the picture beside the recipe I printed off the internets. Guess I did it right!

"I'd never tried it before," England continued on. I hate when he gets all talky and deep after sex. It's a weird thing he does sometimes. "But I didn't want to try it alone. I felt more comfortable doing it with you."

"You shouldn't feel comfortable at all!" I yelled, turning around. He was still turned the other way though. "It's totally dangerous! Even with someone else there! You could have DIED!"

"So?" scoffed England. "We're countries. You know death is only temporary for us."

"SO IT'S STILL SCARY!"

Though England did have a point. We were countries. Not humans. We couldn't die for reals unless our actual nation ceased to exist. So if something happened to our humany bodies that would kill a human, we'd still die, but it's temporary. We'll eventually revive ourselves. It could weeks or months or even YEARS! But luckily it was usually just a few days. It just depends on what killed us. But until then, we're dead. We don't decompose, like we look like we're in a coma, but it's not a coma, we're definitely DEAD. Like our hearts stop beating and brains stop functioning and other organs stop organing.

"Also just because we can't die doesn't mean can't feel PAIN," I said, walking over to him.

"I didn't feel much pain," England said all smugly. "I felt pretty damn good. I think the mess I made on my stomach was plenty proof of that, wouldn't you say?"

When I came up behind England I saw the bruises I'd left on his neck. You could see every finger. They made me cringe. "Ugh, did you see I left bruises?"

"Did you?" England seemed to contemplate that for a moment, then shrugged it off. "Meh. I suppose that's just the price I pay for a mind blowing orgasm."

"What if someone sees? !"

England shrugged again. Less stuff bothers him after he's been sexed up good. He's all relaxed and crap. "Oh well. I'll just cover it up."

"What, you'll wear a scarf for days straight? I mean I know it's getting chillier, but it's only October! You can't do that! You'll look like a fool wearing a scarf all the time, even when you're inside, I mean who does that? Ya know what I—" I suddenly thought of something very disturbing. "Oh God what has Russia been doing? !" O_O

"Just show me your surprise already," sighed England.

"Hmmph. Fine. Here it is." I sat the spotted dick in front of him, on the table. "TA-DAAAA~"

England looked at it. "Is this … is this spotted dick?" he asked.

"WHY YES IT IS!"

Oh wow, he recognized it! This is off to a good start! :D

"You bought some just for me?"

"Nope! I made some just for you."

England looked shocked. "You made this?"

"Sure did!"

England rubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "I have to say, America. I'm rather impressed. Spotted dick is not an easy dish to make, at least for those unfamiliar with it. You must have put a lot of work into doing this."

"Wellll~" I said, giving a little bashful handwave. "What can I say? I wanted you to not feel homesick and I'm a good boyfriend and I care about you and it's all about the little things and all that jazz." Shhh don't tell him about the Post-It note full of dick jokes in my pocket. We'll let him find out about that momentarily ;)

I sat down beside England, getting all excited. He'd picked up a fork and was about to try it.

"Yeah, taste it!" I said excitedly. "Tell me what you think!"

"All right."

England scooped a bit with his fork and brought it to his mouth. He opened wide and took a bite. I held my breath. Would he like it? I put a lot of work into it! And just seeing it made him happy! I would lose that if it tasted bad. But if he liked it, he'd be even MOAR happy! There was a lot on the line here, clearly. Feelings and all that.

England pulled the fork away from his mouth. And chewed. And swallowed. And paused. Damn him for being such a master at a poker face! I couldn't tell what he thought! I had to wait for his stupid dramatic pause to be over before I could know if he liked it or not.

But he just sat there. Staring blankly.

"Well?" I asked. "What did you think? Is it good?"

"…" (He didn't say anything!)

"Well, fine!" I said defensively. "Maybe it's not what you're used to over in fancy pancy English pudding dick master land! But I followed the recipe exactly and I really tried and—"

Weird … England's face was turning purple again …

"… huh? England, are you okay?"

England suddenly started coughing very hard. He hit his chest with a fist, looking like he was in a panic.

"Oh my God, you're choking!" I exclaimed.

England nodded frantically, pointing to his neck.

"You need to chew your food properly, damn! Don't worry, I'll get you some water!" I ran to the sink but when I came back England was already on the floor. "OH LAWD!"

I threw the glass of water on his face. But it didn't wake him up. I got on my knees and scooped him up into my lap. "England!" I sobbed. "Can you hear me? ! Wake up! Please!"

But England just lay limp and lifeless in my lap.

"No, please," I begged, looking into his face. My eyes teared up and it was very dramatic. YOU BETTER BE GETTING SAD AT HOME READING THIS, BOYS AND GIRLS. "You can't leave me, England. Don't go towards the light. Stay here! Stay with me!" I buried my face into his shirt and sobbed. "Please, please don't leave me."

BAWWWWWWW :'(

He didn't wake up. I checked his pulse with two fingers pressed against his neck, pressed against his bruises, and there was nothing. He died in my arms.

"I … d-didn't get … to say …" I was weeping, my breath hitching on my words, still burying my face in his shirt, "a-all those dick jokes I thought of."

X

Later, I stopped being such a pussy and stopped crying. There was no time for DRAMA. I had to deal with this like a MAN. With my BALLS.

But still. I couldn't believe England died choking on my spotted dick. HE DIED CHOKING ON MY SPOTTED DICK!

Jeez, I needed to get it together! Drama ain't gonna help England and his dead self. Time to put on my big boy pants and deal with this.

England's flight was leaving in just a few hours. But he wasn't going to be able to make it, because he was dead, duh. And there was no way he would be alive again before it was time. He needed at least a day or two to revive himself. Maybe even longer. I needed to buy some time!

Now normally, countries don't hide another dead country from the rest of the world or their leaders. But guess what? This didn't look good for me. England was dead and he had very obvious bruises around his neck. In the shape of handprints. In the shape of MY handprints. Y'all know what that looks like, right?

They're gonna think I choked him! I mean, I did choke him. BUT NOT IN THE MURDEROUS WAY! I DIDN'T KILL HIM! But they'll never believe me that he choked on my spotted dick! Oh nooo. They'll think we got into an argument and I couldn't control my temper and I grabbed him by the neck and did my Homer Simpson impression when he chokes Bart and went "WHY YOU LITTLE …!" and England made a choking noise and then he died.

Even though that's TOTALLY not what happened, you guys! Y'all believe me, right? I'm innocent! I would never murder England! He'd just come back to life all pissed off anyway! Then how will I watch 'Ice Road Truckers' with him bitching all night?

I highly doubt England's bosses would believe me. No, they'd get all pissed and say this was an international incident and our countries wouldn't have a Special Relationship anymore (it's really called that, look it up. Even Wikipedia knows about our ~SPECIAL~ Relationship, LOL.) Heck, they might even declare war and then like Prince Whatshisface and Kate Middleton on their wedding night I would be ROYALLY FUCKED!

I had to buy some time. And since Dr. Who was just a fanciful figment of England's imagination, like fairies or universal healthcare, I had to go to plan B.

"Hey, Queen," I said over the phone to the Queen of England (not Queen the band, though that would have been cool.) "It's me, America. 'sup?" Then I realized that probably wasn't very proper. So I just added, "… your highness." Nailed it.

"I am busy, America," said the Queen. "Whatever is so important that I had to be torn from my royal duties to speak with you?"

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to take you away from the very important task of petting your fat Corgis. I just needed to tell you about England. Ya see, he's not gonna be able to fly back to your country today after all."

"Why not?" she asked Britishly.

"Uh …"

CRAP. I didn't think that far in my plan. 'Why?' WHOA what a curveball! I was unprepared for that.

"America?"

"Well, something suddenly came up," I quickly replied. Thanks Marcia Brady for that genius excuse. You're a clever one ;)

"What came up?" asked the Queen.

DAMN! Another curveball! This Queen is a crafty one.

"Is he ill?" she asked.

Oh score! She thought of an excuse for me! Not so crafty now are you, ya old bag? "Uh, y-yes!" I said. "Yeah, he's real sick. He's gonna need at least a couple days to recover before he comes home." It wasn't even a lie. Dead is kinda like sick, right?

"May I speak with him? I don't understand why he couldn't tell this to me himself."

"With all due respect, your honor, he is in the restroom and cannot come out because he has the shits."

"I see," said the Queen. "Well, give him my well wishes. I do hope he feels better."

"Okay, peace out." I hung up.

PHEW! I bought myself some time. Now all I had to do was wait around a couple days for England to naturally come back to life and this nightmare before Christmas would be over.

X

You guys ever hid a dead body?

It ain't easy.

Especially if you're popular like me. One minute you're eating microwaved Lunchables on your couch watching the Colbert Report next to a dead body, and the next someone's knocking at the door! I'm all scrambling to throw a blanket over England's corpse while trying not to spill my Capri Sun while the doorbell goes DING DONG DING DONG.

Sometimes it's UPS or FedEx. I told you I'm popular. And they're always like 'Sign here, please' but I know what they REALLY mean. I can hear it in their tones, their accusing tones, 'MURDERER!' And when they say 'Have a nice day' I know they really mean, 'Have a nice day MURDERING!'

One time it was my neighbor saying he got some of my mail by accident. He said, 'I saw I got your Val-Pac in my mail today, haha,' but once again I could read between the lines. I know he meant 'I saw you MURDER someone, haha.' It's like jazz — it's the notes you DON'T play. Or in this case words you don't say. You know what I mean.

And then a pizza guy came to my house. I guess that one was my fault since I ordered Domino's. But I DIDN'T order an ACCUSATION! He's all like 'Here's your large pan pizza with sausage and green peppers,' but I knew he meant, 'Here's your large pan pizza with dead England's flesh because you MURDERED him and green peppers.'

It was driving me mad. I had to keep the curtains drawn all the time. Lock the doors and stop answering them. Not answer the phone either. Just lock myself away.

What, you thinking I'm paranoid? I know you are. You're thinking I'm paranoid because of England's death. I KNOW YOU ARE! I don't have proof but I can FEEL it! Everyone thinks I'm paranoid! Just because I assume every encounter I have with someone is one accusing me of murder! I can see it in their EYES! Or their VOICES! Or just … something. Look, it's there. Trust me. It's not like I'm going insane with paranoia or something. No way, you guys.

So one day I was in bed hiding under the covers rocking back and forth crying while reading a book by Glenn Beck when the doorbell rang. I was like HELLLLLL NO. I ain't answering the door for NOBODY. Not even Domino's. Did you know they now have a pan pizza? That's like their new thing. WOW MADE IN A PAN MY MIND IS BLOWN.

"Oh, Americaaaa~" said a voice from outside. "It's me! Your favorite unitary semi-presidential constitutional republic~!"

I peeked out from under my blanket. "Djibouti?" I asked hopefully :O

"It's me, France!"

Oh -_-

"Let me in!" he yelled outside the door. "I need to speak with you!"

"NO!" I shouted back, though I didn't know if he could hear me. "GO AWAY! I'M NOT HOME!"

But France is very persistent. And annoying. He just kept ringing and ringing and ringing my doorbell. But I didn't answer. I was kinda busy, kinda busy~ Now I know how Lady Gaga felt in that club. Stop calling, stop calling, I don't wanna think anymore. I left my head and heart on the dance floor.

(And England's dead body on the couch.)

But finally I couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't gonna stop until I answered the door! This was nothing a swift kick in his French ass couldn't take care of.

DING DONG DING DONG DING—

"WHAT? !" I yelled, throwing open the door. "WHAT DO YOU WANT? !"

"Bonjourrrrr~" he trilled annoyingly. "How is precious little Am — oh my! You look absolutely dreadful! What happened? Do you have le fungal meningitis? You poor dear."

"No," I sighed. "I … I just got some stuff going on."

It was true. I didn't look my normal hot self. I hadn't been bathing normally, or combing my hair, I was in my pajamas that weren't buttoned in the right holes for the shirt part, my eyes were bloodshot, and I'd had the same pizza sauce stain on my shirt for days. (Lunchables pizza, not Domino's. I had to make it myself and that is hard work.)

"Come, come," said France, pushing himself in. "Tell Big Brother all about it."

I didn't want to, but it was the first human contact I'd had in days, so I let him in. We sat down on my couch next to England's dead body (it was covered in a blanket, of course. I got a little class, okay?)

"I dunno," I said. "I can't really talk about it."

"Please!" said France. "Something is obviously bothering you, no? You can confide in me."

OMG FRANCE KNOWS. I can tell these things because I'm para — I MEAN SMART. I'm not paranoid! It's not paranoia if it's true! France knows England's dead and he's gonna blame me and I'm gonna cause lots of people to get pissed at me and maybe even cause a war and Obama's gonna spank me and Sasha and Malia are gonna watch and laugh D:

"N-n-n-no thanks," I said, shaking. "Here in America us men folk bottle our emotions up. That's the MANLY way."

"Nonsense!" said France. "Zis is eating you up! You must share your emotions — you cannot keep living like zis."

France said that. But I knew he really meant 'You must share your MURDER — England cannot keep living like this because he's DEAD and MURDERED.'

"No!" I shouted, scooting away from him on the couch. I scooted so far I bumped into England's dead body a little. "I said I don't wanna talk about it! Leave me alone!"

"But you will feel better if you talk about it!"

"OH GOD!" I exclaimed quite dramatically. "I can't take any more of your accusations! That's it! I'll admit it, okay? ! ENGLAND IS DEAD!"

"Dead?" said France, hardly reacting at all. "Oh, zat is right! I originally came here to harass him while he was still ill, didn't I? I forgot when I saw how absolutely horrendous you looked."

"You … you don't care that he's dead?"

"Well, it is only a temporary death, no? We are countries, after all."

"Heh heh …" I chuckled nervously. "Yeeeah … it's t-temporary. Soooo no need to tell anyone, all right? Let's just keep it between us. Pinky swear?"

But France left my pinky hanging. "Why are you acting so suspicious? If he fell ill and died, zat is not your fault."

Y'all know what France really meant. 'If he got choked and MURDERED, zat IS your fault!'

"I DIDN'T KILL HIM I SWEAR!" I said suddenly.

"… eh?"

"I WOULD NEVER MURDER ENGLAND! Even if he really pissed me off! I swear, the most I'd ever do would be punch him in the kidneys — but that's only if he REALLY pissed me off! I'd definitely never MURDER him!"

France looked very surprised … and a bit nervous. "Eh … America? I didn't say anything about murder?"

"It's 'MURDER'! You gotta say it loud enough to be in ALL CAPS! Because it's a DRAMATIC WORD!"

"Oh my!" France looked to his wrist like he had a watch but he did not have a watch. "Look at ze time! I must be going!"

"No! Please!" I fell to the floor, on my knees. I was at his feet. "You gotta help me! I don't know what to do! He died and it's been over a week and he still won't come back to life yet! His bosses keep calling and my bosses keep calling because his bosses called my bosses and they all wanna know where he is and why he won't leave or talk to anyone! And no one believes my impersonation of him on the phone even though I really tried hard and said 'bloody' and 'git' a lot! They all want answers and I don't know what to tell them! HELP ME FRANCE!"

Please don't judge me for crying again you guys :(

"My," said France. He stared down at me for a moment, looking a bit stunned. Then he petted my head like a kitty. "Zere, zere, America. Big Brother will help you."

I sniffled up at him. "Y-you will?" :'D

"Yes, of course~ But first you must show me England. I must see zis for myself."

"Oh, uh. He's right beside you under the blanket."

France looked over at that big body-shaped lump. "Oh. I thought zat was a blow-up doll. I didn't want to embarrass you by mentioning it, honhonhon!"

"Hey, show some respect for the dead!" I said as I stood up.

France pulled off the blanket. There was England. Dead and lifeless, just like he'd been for a week.

"Why is he wearing sunglasses?" asked France.

"It was spooky having those dead eyes just staring like that!" I said. "How could I NOT put sunglasses over them?"

"Peh. So much for respect for ze dead."

"Hey, that's respectful. He looks really cool in those sunglasses."

France was looking very closely at England's dead body. It was very dead, but it didn't look decayed or anything. Us countries don't decompose or get rigor mortis or any of that jazz. He looked like he literally just died.

"America," began France, still staring at England. "May I hold your hands?"

"Um, WHOA. Look, I know England's dead and all but don't think that means you can just swoop in and get gay with me in his place."

France sighed. "Zis isn't gay. Just let me see zem for a moment."

"Augh, fine."

France took my hands and placed them over England's neck. Right over the handprints.

"Interesting," said France. "Zey are a match."

I quickly pulled my hands away. "Oh my God! It's not what it looks like, I swear!" France just gave me a look like ORLY? "REALLY! I didn't MURDER him! It was an accident! He choked on my spotted dick."

"Oh my. Zis just keeps getting more and more interesting." France was smiling! Like he was amused by this! GRRR! "So tell me, was holding England's head down on your manhood long enough to literally strangle ze life out of him worth ze momentary sensation?"

"WHAT!" I exclaimed. Oh God I didn't even think about that sounded D: "I didn't do that! Spotted dick is a pudding!"

"Right … and pudding leaves handprints?"

"Oh … um … well, about that …"

Crap. I didn't wanna tell France how those got there! I don't want him thinking I'm a pervert. Then he really might try to get gay with me. Like how some dudes will hit on women when their boyfriend dumps them. Some guys do that when women's husbands die too, right? Like hit on widows? Well, lowlife guys. I could see France doing that. I'm over here mourning and shit, and France is like, 'Oh come here baby, I'm here for you, bonjour and other French words.' And I'm all emotional and like 'OHHH I JUST WANNA BE HELD TONIGHT!' and he bangs me slowly and passionately after a glass or two of his favorite wine, in front of the fireplace, as the image of our bodies humping and entangled in a naked, ungodly tryst reflects in England's cold, lifeless eyes, sitting on the nearby couch.

I DON'T WANT THAT D:

"Well, France," I said. "I definitely didn't erotically asphyxiate him during sex. Nope. Definitely didn't do that."

Sounds legit, right?

"Ahh," said France, getting all smug like all French people are. "Now zis all makes sense. You choked him during le sweet amour, but accidentally held too long, and instead of thrilling him, you ended up killing him, yes?"

"NO!"

"Now don't be ashamed. It was an accident. And we all have our kinkier sides, HONHONHON!"

Great. Now France thinks I MURDERED him accidentally. Yeah, that's loads better. NOT. Manslaughter may not be as harsh a punishment as MURDER, but ya still go to jail for it! And can you imagine me having to tell our bosses I accidentally choked England to death during erotic asphyxiation? 'Oh yeah, your majesty, England was just really horny and submissive that day and nothing get his rocks off better than me strangling him until he can't breathe because he's into that.' Pssh, yeah. That'll go over real well. That old bat would be like 'OH HEAVENS!' while trying to fan herself and her servants try to dab the sweat off of her with crumpets.

And Obama. If I said that he'd be like 'Now, America.' Then he'd do that pause thing he does. He always pauses. 'This nation,' Another pause. 'Was not built.' Pause. 'On choking our allies to intensify our orgasms for a sexual thrill, regardless how of good it feels.' Pause. 'It's very dangerous.' Still another pause. 'Now then.' Yet another pause. 'I probably should have asked Sasha and Malia to leave before saying this to you in front of them.'

"I didn't kill him!" I said to France. "Please don't tell England's queen or Obama that's what happened!"

"But you admit you choked him during sex?"

"I … well … l-let me explain—" Damn my rambling. "Okay, YEAH! I admit it, okay? ! I choked him during sex! He begged me to! I didn't wanna, he made me, GOD!"

"Zat does sound like England," chuckled France. He poked England's dead body a couple times with his finger. It's hard to resist poking a dead body.

"But I didn't kill him!" I insisted. "The choking was weird and scary but he survived! Then we went downstairs and I made him some spotted dick and he took a bite and choked to death."

"Hmm, yes, I don't believe you at all."

Oh God. I'm so going to jail. (Or 'gaol' as England spells it. Yeah, he spells 'jail' as 'gaol'! I mean WTF! It's not even close! I can see some spelling differences like how they say '50 Shades of GREY' and we say '50 Shades of GRAY' but come on, 'gaol' is just getting a little too crazy.)

"But it's the truth!" I said. "I swear! I swear over England's dead body!" I leaned over England's dead body on the couch a little bit. "See? I swear!"

"Heh. Well, I suppose we'll just see when he finally comes to, won't we?"

"Yeah, see, that's kinda the problem. I thought he'd be back now and I don't know what's taking so long."

"Ah. What a shame you cannot talk to zose in ze afterlife."

:O

Wait a minute, you guys. I may not being able to talk to England because he is dead like Billy Mays God rest his soul, but guess what you CAN talk to? That's right.

GHOSTS.

To be continued …

:O