I can hear birds chirping...but that doesn't feel like enough proof that I am not dead. Of course, I feel Alfred is still practically on top of me. I open my eyes slowly, groaning from the light. It's a bright spring morning and I am not used to it. The reason for this is because most of the winter is spent in darkness. The clouds, the shorter days; these are all attributes of winter I have to live with. Of course, it is a beautiful season, and I feel privileged to have it. At last I open my eyes all the way, and grumble some jibberish under my breath to test my voice. My throat feels raw. The alcohol probably dehydrated me. Maybe I am dead. My head is throbbing like someone shoved it into a vise. That's it, I am hung-over. For sure. But I was fortunate that Alfred hasn't seemed to have woken up quite yet. No pranks for me. Huzzah.

Problem number one. Getting out of bed when you find yourself in a death-grip. My brother is a heavy sleeper, so I definitely won't wake him up if I try to squeeze free. I place my feet upright on the mattress with my knees up in the air and I try to wiggle and pull myself free from under his lock. One of my feet losses its footing and jerks back to its original position.

"MAPLE!" I screech, the pain is now throbbing in my foot, almost worse than my head.

OF ALL TIMES. OF ALL TIMES A CRAMP. A CRAMP SQUARE IN MY FOOT. So, I try to right my foot and stop the pain. I jerk my foot back and forth and back and forth and I hear Alfred smack his lips in his sleep and it sounds like thunder-claps because it was aimed into my ear. Finally, sweet relief flows from the nerves in my foot and I let out a silent sigh and try to squeeze out. The only problem is, I can feel his grip tightening on me like he doesn't want to let me go. So of course I try even harder, and as last I feel the arms just clamp over the top of my head slide my hair up and I am free! I nearly laughed by stopped myself when I realised how painful my throat was. I clasped it with my hand and let out a dry cough. No! I can't be hoarse! Not when I have that comedy show to do-now when was that?

I finally eased out of bed from the side as not to disturb Alfred, who was laughing softly in his sleep and slobbering on my pillow. Note to self, clean that later. So then I stood up, feeling rickety and marionette-like and staggered towards the calendar on my wall. It was a nature paintings one, very quaint. Alfred likes to steal it and replace it with a swimsuit model one. It's a really lame prank, but I am not going to argue with him. It is always pleasant to find my calendar and put it back up again. I press my hand against the spider web of squares and number s and trace down through the week to today. Today is Tuesday...right? Yes. It is. The day of the comedy show at...10:00 in the morning. Son of a...

Turning my head with horror, my eyes meet the little analog clock beside the lamp on the night-table. It reads...9:34!

"Ahhhhhh..!" I cry out very hoarsely and dash into the bathroom. I look like I just wandered out of a forest, after 3 days of MIA. My hair needs to be brushed, my face washed, my teeth brushed and I have to, HAVE TO do something about my throat! I squeeze the toothpaste from the tube with no co-ordination what so ever and while brushing the toothpaste drips down out of my foaming mouth and onto my pyjama top. Check that, I look like I just wandered out of a forest after 3 days of MIA, and I am now a rabid squirrel! So I grab a cup and fill it with cool water, or at least as cool as I can get it, and slosh the tooth-paste and water around before spitting it out and nearly missing the sink. The minty bullet shells splatter on the mirror and my clean freakiness kicks in. Must...resist...wiping it off! It's okay Canada...I tell myself. It's a-ok.

I take my glasses off and put them in my pocket because if some sort of demon or ghost is haunting my glasses, I have to be CERTAIN that it does NOT attack me again! On top of that, breaking them again would cause even more problems for me. At last I'm done almost everything and I am brushing my hair with one hand on the brush while the other fits a sock onto my foot before anything else. I'm basically jumping around on one foot, disoriented like a drunken pogo-stick (because I forgot to put my glasses on and it's too late now) trying to pull a brush through my mop of blonde hair with my left hand which by the way is not my dominant hand. I considered switching for a brief moment, debating on whether the sock was more difficult to put on than is was to brush my hair.

And at LAST, and I really do mean it this time, I am done and finally tightening the tie in the mirror. I don't want to skip breakfast so I dash downstairs and grab a cinnamon and raisin bread slice from the back. I stare at the slice for a brief and when I mean brief, I mean about 2 valuable milliseconds of my time. I vocalise my thoughts.

"OH COME ON..." I whimper, staring at the partly moldy bread. Disgusting! I imagine none of the other slices are any better...

Whatever, I'm hungry.

Now, mind you I did not eat the slice mold and all. As I got to my car, which is a little old fashioned and a bit of a clunker as my brother would say, I picked off pieces of the bread with mold on them and hoped the "Moldecules" hadn't infected the slice like a disease, because I was set to shove the thing in my mouth and step on the gas. I threw all the picked off pieces in the grass, because I know the ants will appreciate it. I can't tell, but they probably know I exist, unlike most people. Now isn't that sad. Even my bear doesn't know my name and yet ants are my best friends forever. I'm just king of the ants, aren't I?

Now I am backing out of the driveway, so I do another mental check-list. Striped tie, check. Shoes check, of course. Keys for the car; well, yeah. Glasses? I am really glad I remembered them at the last minute. Looks like everything I need!

I smile and roll the windows down slightly. I can finally appreciate how beautiful everything is this morning. The roads, leaves in the trees and roof-tops glitter like diamonds, rich with dew and water from the night's rainfall. It is still a little chilly this morning, but the sun is getting high in the sky and melting the snow that remains on the ground from the night before. I can honestly say that spring has sprung. Man, do I ever love nature.

I'm right on time so I turn the wheel and go down a country road. The clunker car sputters and grinds over the gravel roads, but I'm too happy to care. I'll be there really soon and everyone is expecting a good show. Out of curiosity, I open my mouth and try to say something like, it's a beautiful day and it is great to be alive.

It comes out like the hissing of snakes on medusa's head coming from a deep dark hole where any sound that tries to come from it would get muffled. So suddenly I'm searching like mad for a lozenge in the car. I keep an eye on the road, because that is my duty as a driving citizen to not run over little girls in the street. That should be everyone's duty, no matter how demonic their voice sounds before a big show that will determine whether I will be finally noticed or not. Maybe. The balance of all this hangs on a throat lozenge. Just a throat lozenge.

How can I possibly screw up?

Oh, I know how.

Try, taking your eyes off the road for literally a FRACTION OF A SECOND to pick up your prize that you found in the glove compartment. My hand closed around the little bundle of hope, and I looked up. Don't drive distracted, kids.

My heart stopped.

Brown dashed in front of the car, and big black eyes stared at me. They were heavily lashed and beautiful.

A scream escaped me and I slammed down HARD on the brakes and turned the wheel to the side. I don't know why, but at that moment, my mind felt so muddled up, I screamed. "JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL!" before I nearly ripped the wheel off its hinges, avoiding the beautiful creature of nature as it stopped in the middle of the road to eat some grass growing out of the gravel. Naturally, my car sailed straight over the ditch on the side of the road, like a magical dream, with me still screaming like a madman, and I made a beeline into the forest beside the road.

The car crashed into the undergrowth and I careened down a hill, naturally. The wind coming through the partly open windows tugged and tangled my long hair, but that was the last thing on my mind. I finally shut my mouth and let go of the wheel because I couldn't control the wild beast that was once my car.

I just looked forward and watched the show at my dashboard, unwrapping the lozenge. I tried to ignore the constant thumping and the fear of having a lozenge lodged in my windpipe. Branches and squirrels and nature stuff was slamming up against my car and I felt really REALLY bad. You have no idea how much I love nature. I paint it, I breathe it and I live it when I can. And now I'm making a beeline through it straight towards a lake.

Welp. Guess I'm soaked.

The car lurches over a bump and my glasses fly off my face and slam against the wind-shield. Remarkably, for the fraction of the second I am paying attention, I realize they haven't broken.

Can't say the same for me in

Three,

Two,

One.

SPLASH.

Water washes over me pouring into the car through the open windows. I am SUCH an idiot. I should have rolled up the windows, and then there wouldn't be water pouring out around me. Out of the corner of my eye, as the water keeps flooding in and gets up to my chin as fast as a wink, I see another figure dash out, squeezing through the opening in the window.

That's when I realise something. The water passes up over my mouth and nose and I'm holding my breath. I'm floating up in my seat a little bit, but I'm still wearing my seat-belt. What I realised was that I am not an idiot after-all, and I have sub-consciously saved myself. I reach down through the heavy and restricting wall of water and un-clip my seat-belt. My hands are straddled on the roof of the car and I move towards the exit, just barely squeezing through. Water starts to rush up beside me as I float up. I only have few seconds to think, and I've already sunk quite deep and my lungs are compressing on themselves. The first thing on my mind is to save my breath to maintain my buoyancy. If I let go of my breath now, the air will rise out of my mouth like little help blimps and fly away from me. As long as they are in my lungs, KILLING ME, I'm saved. A little bit oxymoronic, isn't it?

I go up, up, and further up past a school of bass and random sunfish or two. I come closer to the surface where the light is streaming down in heavenly ribbons.

I am saved. But I'm feeling light-headed. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and takes a deep breathe out, releasing the accumulated CO2 from my lungs. It is a spiritual moment.

I am floating on nothing.

I am a bird, a little fuzzy dandelion seed floating in the air, a butterfly, a feather of air, a really stupid guy that should stop now because he's going to pass out.

I beat my hands down and break the surface, realizing at this moment just how GREAT breathing is! OH YEAH, take in ALL that wonderful OXYGEN. YUM.

Yeah, I've definitely lost too many brain-cells from holding my breath. I laugh. I'm saved. I'm saved...if I pass out down there; no-one will ever find me. I can't die of course, because I am a country, but if I'm not pulled out of the lake, I could be there forever.

I realize a second thing. THE WATER IS FREAKING FREEZING. And another thing-

Water washed back over my face again, and I had no time to hold my breath this time. Pressure is holding down on the top of my head and neck and I hear muffled laughter.

Someone is here with me, and trying to drown me.

I'm no baby. I've been in wars before, and I've done well, as far as I know. I help the other countries with war and peace-keeping too. It's not like I don't have any power what so ever. My mind switches to its fight reflex. It was a particular reflex that I had to dust off. Now I notice several things. The person drowning me is weaker. Through his grip, I can feel his arms trembling. He is trying hard to keep me down. I double up and flip in the water, submerging him behind me. The air rushes into my face and I breathe and cough before I am dragged back down again and we are both submerged.

Now it's just a battle of the wits. A contest of holding one's breath.

I get a good look at him, and recognize my doppelganger from the night before. He is glaring at me through the shades and I can see his dark blue eyes, remarkably, without my glasses on through the murk of the water.

Why is Quebec trying to drown me?

Oh, right, I nearly forgot.

He hates me.

He swims forward and tries to throw a punch. I am tempted to laugh because he has of course been slowed down by 50% by the water. I remembered just how hard it was to undo a seat-belt. I know that moving too much isn't wise when you are holding your breath so I remain in one place while he spazzes around in the water trying to hit me. The science behind moving while holding your breath is that your cells and systems of your body need oxygen to function. If they are all trying to function with additional movement as well as the beating of the heart, you are wasting up the oxygen stored.

His punches land on me, but I don't feel anything. He's still latched onto my leg and punching, punching, punching. After a few seconds, I feel his grasp loosen on me and he looks up at me.

His sunglasses have slipped down from his eyes and I can see his rage burning in them like scorching blue fire. His eyes are not mine. They are the eyes of another nation.

One different from any other nation I have ever seen.

Bubbles escape his mouth. They were his only and final hope.

His arms slip fully and he sinks down into the darkness, going half-lidded.

Honestly, I don't know what came over me.

This guy hates me, he might even want me dead. But I think of Alfred. You bet I think of Alfred. He is quick to judge, quick to act. If Texas became its own nation, he would probably let it drown in a heart-beat. Me, I'm supposed to be the rational one, the peace-keeper. That's probably why I'm ignored. You know, even Arthur would let his drown in a heart-beat too. But I'm not here to be like them. And I am not like them.

I am Canada.

And hey, maybe Quebec doesn't want me dead. Maybe he hates me, sure, but I've put up with a lot of nations like that.

I shoot down even though my lungs are getting their second beating. I grope forward in the darkness, fearing for him and fearing for me. If we are both lost down here, our entire country will be gone, considering he is sort of like a part of me.

I praise the lord and the world and everything else when I finally meet his flesh. His wrist. I grab and pull him up to grab his arm because I wouldn't want to sprain his wrist on the way back up.

Again the water shoots up over us, but the extra weight puts strain on my muscles. I kick with all my might to the top and we both break the water. I gasp out, but he's unresponsive. I feel a chill go down my spine, and it's not just that the water is freezing cold, but the fact that he didn't gasp as well worries me. He's passed out. If this guy is actually just a normal guy and not a nation, he's probably dead. Why on earth do I think about stuff like that at times like this! Never EVER think of the worst case scenario first.

I swim us to land where I gasp and cough and experience my muscles screaming with pain. I used to be in better shape...man, I feel so ashamed.

I can still try to help him though.

I place him upright and press my hands on his chest. I push down and do the proper procedure and all that. His head lifts a fraction and he coughs and spits up water. Halleluiah!

He's still dead to the world though.

I pull him into the sunlight and cross his feet over and turn him with his arm under him into the recovery position. Hopefully it helps. It feels like the only thing I could have done.

By now, I am wondering just how far we have crashed into the forest. I look up at the scar I left on the hill and realize it was even steeper than I thought. I can't see much without my glasses, but I determine that much. We might be miles in. I have no idea what time it is, but if miles in is the case, I'm pretty much screwed.

I whimper and bury my face in the grass. I don't want to look at anything anymore. I am just way too ashamed. They will all probably think I arrived, but I'm invisible or something. Maybe they'll pretend America is me, or something.

It makes me pretty darn mad!

I'm soaked, I was nearly drowned twice, my car is at the bottom of a lake and I'm late for my comedy show.

I'm not going to even ask if it can get any worse, because I know it probably will.

Hey all!~ First author's note and man oh jeez am I glad at how this is turning out! And I've received so much good feedback, wow! I didn't think I would.

Now, from time to time, I worry if I'm being a bit too stereotypical. It is really hard to depict Quebec. Now, don't judge me too soon, I haven't even really gotten into his character yet.

Poor Canada! He was almost on a roll with being positive and now he's put down again. I'm pretty sure we all have those days.

Now, I have no idea how often I am going to update, and I really hope that this story doesn't crash and burn. I actually extended the story a bit, so I hope you all appreciate that.

So how is the comedy? Do you find it funny? Should I change something? Am I being too stereotypical? How do you think Quebec should be depicted?

Read and Review my friends, read and review~

-Pylime ○