At the end of the world meeting somewhere in Southeast Asia - a place which I couldn't bother to remember the name of - I had arranged to fly back to London with America who was spending a month there to sign some necessary documents . Due to exceptionally late booking for no good reason, we were allocated highly unfavourable seats.
We were placed right at the back of the economy class cabin. The moment I sat in my seat, I immediately dreaded the next fourteen hours I would spend in this metal casing.
The first few hours were reasonable. I was very much awake and allowed myself to watch a few American cartoons as America himself downed the free flow of orange juice at the speed of light. After a while, the lights were switched off so that we could sleep and get our bodies accustomed to the change of time zones. I was forced to put my book down and attempt to sleep, since America was already snoring loudly.
Sighing, I turned down my music and closed my eyes, all ready to drift into the land of unicorns and double rainbows (not like they didn't already exist) until a baby screamed. That set off another one and the babies were fucking chorusing together as they cried out for whatever shit they wanted. Ignoring them, I pulled out my folded-in tray attached to the seat in front and placed my pillow on it. Laying my head down, this position felt much more comfortable than the last, and I felt my eyelids slowly weighing down.
Then the person in front decided that he needed to incline his bloody chair and unpleasantly compressed my head.
Swallowing my irritation, I readjusted myself and curled up on my side, hugging my pillow and letting my legs splay onto the table. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it would have to do. One of the babies had stopped crying, thank god, but the last one was bawling a holy hell loud enough for forty little devils. Then the worst thing happened.
America woke up.
Letting loose a stream of colourful language into my pillow, I groaned loudly and flopped over to put my head on America's arm rest. The other nation wasn't pleased, and poked at my knee as I was about to be absorbed into the world of bliss I was longing to enter.
Poke poke
Ignore it… just ignore it…
"Dude, Iggy, move your leg."
I cracked open an eye in frustration and glared at America, who was totally oblivious to my anger. The baby was still going at it, and I had to resist the urge of sniping it in the mouth so that they would shut the hell up and give me some peace. As for America, I'd blown his head clear off with a shotgun.
The air steward then walked by and asked if I'd like fish with potatoes or pork with rice. When he saw that I was face-planted on the table, he asked if I was alright. Yeah, I'm fucking alright. There's just this baby I want to throw out of the window and a moron to my right that I want to drown in his own chicken soup.
As I crossly stabbed at my fatty lumps of pork, the baby cried out again as his mother failed to do her job. I lifted the piece of meat to my mouth and crossed my legs on the seat. America had fallen asleep yet again even though his meal was in front of him. The place was certainly marginally quieter now that he had his fat mouth shut, since the baby was creating two-thirds of the noise in the plane.
After finishing my dinner, I unwisely drank some coffee and failed to spiral into my dreamland yet again. My eyes felt sore, and they stung badly; but there seemed to be two toothpicks stuck underneath my eyelids that rendered them unable to close. If France saw this now, he'd laugh and I'd never hear the end of it.
"Bloody fucking wanker git-faced frog France I swear I'll…" I growled, rubbing my dry eyes, cursing at a nation that wasn't even present. The woman sitting across the aisle stared at me, obviously disapproving my language as she pointedly patted the tufts of hair on her baby's head.
Lady, I'm pretty sure your son won't be repeating those words unless he's been hearing them too much. …or has he already?
A few moments later, America awoke yet again, and begun devouring his cold dinner as the movie Rango played on his small television set. When a funny bit came on, he nearly choked on his potatoes and coughed them up onto the back of the seat in front of him.
Wrinkling my nose, I uncrossed my legs and rubbed them, attempting to get rid of the prickly feeling of pins and needles lining my muscles.
"Dude, England, you've gotta see this one part…" America attempted to fast-forward the movie to the apparently hilarious part of Rango. When he kept going too far forward or too far backward, he gave up and irritatedly placed the remote back in its set. Hey, if anybody's irritated, it should be me.
"Never mind, you missed it," the bespectacled nation declared cheerfully.
Asshole, don't waste my time and then fucking give up on me.
I closed my eyes, too tired to even sigh – let alone retort – and made a last feeble attempt to sleep. This was when I realized that the baby had gone quiet, and the only sounds in the plane were the occasional flipping of pages from a good book and the quiet munching on the seemingly endless flow of cookies from America. It was so peaceful, and the drone of the plane's engines were gently lulling me to sleep…
"England! WAKE UP LOSERRRRRRRR –"
I yelped and shot up in my seat to find America's face a mere inch from mine.
"America! What the hell do you think you're doing you bloody git?" I yelled, irate. I finally drift off and this… brother of mine. This little imbecile scummy piece of –
"We've landed, England."
…oh.
Upon trying to stand up, my knees creaked in protest and I had to support myself on the seat in front of me, nearly pressing my hand onto the baby's face. Serves that little monster right. If I could have my way, I'd be tossing some poor fool from the first class seats to the hotspot of living hell in the economy class cabin.
"Dude, Iggy. Are you like really tired?" America commented, looking rather concerned.
"No, America, I'm so fucking full of energy that I can create leprechauns and pots of gold so that they can prance around at the edge of rainbows with strawberry unicorns and four-stomached gibbons."
America blinked at me, as if he were registering my furrowed brow and clenched teeth, before turning away to get his baggage out of the over-head compartment.
"I was going to offer to carry you back, but since you're so energetic…"
I couldn't remember exactly what happened next, but America seemed rather uneasy when I regained consciousness on my bed. From his telephone conversation with France (which I tapped on. I needed to know why I could hear the frog's laughter from the telephone speaker when I was standing a good six feet away), the incident which led to my loss of consciousness involved a baby being flung into America's face and a, I quote, "barking mad Englishman who was raging about how leprechauns were already filthy rich enough and didn't need his help to create pots of gold".
Swear to god I hate planes.