Group 2: America and England
America felt sore when he awoke. Had he slept of granite last night? His eyes opened, looking around. Where was he?
"What the hell happened?" he moaned sitting up and rubbing his head. America stretched his arms above his head, two pops coming from each arm. Then he remembered what happened. He started to look around for anyone else, but white was all he could find. "Where's everyone else?"
The American was surprised his loud voice didn't carry. It's like a parallel universe! He soon heard a moan; next to him was Britain…a little too close.
"Agh! What the hell?" America yelled and moved away from England. What kind of sick joke was this? Where's the door?
America would stand up and stretch his back. All this white seemed to make him a little dizzy. Where were they? What happened to the other nations? America sighed and looked at England.
Two gun shots were heard behind America. He jerked around and saw a man in black. His evil smile and blood thirsty eyes were the only things that seemed to show. His arm rose with a pistol, tight in his grasp. He fired two more bullets, just grazing America's ear.
"What the hell are you doing?" He yelled to the man.
Once again, the man laughed as if he were mad! America stepped back, tripping over England's lifeless form. His eyes were gouged out, leaving bloody sockets behind. His hair was wet with fresh blood, dripping onto the white floor, staining it with fear. America's eyes widened at the graphic scene. He let out a yell of fear as he felt he was going to heave.
The mad man pointed his gun at America. "This is your final resting place!" He yelled, pulling the trigger.
He felt England shaking his shoulders. America realized he was on his knees, holding his head with both hands and crouching over.
"What's wrong, America?" England yelled at him. He shook his shoulders a little more. By England's calm hands, America realized he was trembling.
Just a trick? Had that actually happened? America's ear didn't hurt from the bullet, so it must have been fake. He moved his hands from his head a little. His breath was shaking and uneven.
"Are you okay? You were screaming as if someone was killing you." England would say, moving in front of America.
If only he knew about what he had just seen. "Yeah," America would manage to get out, "it's nothing, don't worry."
"Are you mad?" The Brit yelled. "Why were you yelling, you bloody wanker?" He wasn't about to let America off with this. What exactly did he see? A ghost? Russia?
America felt his stomach churn in uneasiness, remembering the scene he had saw moments before. He held his stomach as if he was going to vomit. His face turned a little green and then he held his head. America didn't realize he was leaning over until his head rested on Britain's shoulder.
"Hey now," England said, putting his hands on America's shoulders, "you look sick. Are you sure you're okay, lad?"
America shook his head. He thought for sure he was going to throw up. England moved America from his shoulders and dug into his pocket, pulling out a paper bag.
"If you're going to throw up, use this." He would say, handing the American the bag. "It's extra from the bags we had at the meeting for people to take home food."
America would take the bag, fold it open, and throw up. He put his hand on the floor to steady himself. Beads of sweat would form on his forehead as he heaved once more. England sat next to him and rubbed his back, trying to calm him the slightest bit. America would take heavy breaths in between each gag.
Britain wondered what had scared him so much. He usually had a strong stomach that didn't give in so easily. He seemed so weak like this.
