All of the characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the theory was written by deviantart's SailerInfoerno12908, so credit for this sad, but wonderful, theory must be given to them.
The Hetalia Theory speculates that all of the countries once lived as humans, under their human names, and died at their age of something. Based on each nation's characteristics and personality, the cause of death and life differs for each.
Next is America, known as Alfred F. Jones in his human life. He was a normal teenager who suffered with and later died of anorexia nervosa, explaining his great appetite and love of fatty food.
Although he tended to not pay much mind to a lot of things in his life, there was one part of his life Alfred payed special attention to; his parents remaining in the dark. If they somehow found out that he had slowly but surely starving himself, god knows what they'd do to him. A therapist every day for months or worse, they might send him to some psych ward in the middle of the country where nutrients would be practically forced down his throat. This left him with only one possibility; they really couldn't know.
At first, it was simple enough for Alfred to hide it. An extra undershirt beneath his clothes and bam! He looked perfectly normal. But now, since he had dropped so much weight, it was far harder to hide it like he used to. Baggy long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts became a frequent wardrobe choice. He was quite afraid that it wouldn't be long before someone noticed.
For the first time in what seemed like months, his parents would both be home tonight, and he couldn't be around them that long. And, as he'd just discovered, he couldn't stay in his room. A couple of minute ago, his mother had called out from the kitchen, asking him what he wanted for dinner. Alfred couldn't eat dinner. Dinner was only water for him now. So was breakfast, lunch, or any other occasion to eat. So, Alfred saw only one way to get out of it.
He hauled himself off of his bed and threw on more of the loose-fitting clothes he owed his secrecy too, and left his room.
"Hey, mom?" He peaked his head through the kitchen door. "I forgot that I, uh, said I'd go to Kiku's house to… play a game with him."
"Do you have to go? We're just about to eat together for the first time in months…" She turned around to face him, holding a dish of what smelled like chicken.
Oh god… he suddenly felt very hungry. He had to get out of there. "Yeah, but it's the beta release of a really popular game, and they released like one hundred copies of it or something."
"Oh, well that's a shame. Tell Mrs. Honda I said hello then." She looked dejected and, for a moment, Alfred felt terribly guilty. But his desperation to get away from food won out over the guilt. "Oh! Won't you be warm in all of those layers?"
Shit. Okay, think Alfred, think. "Nah, you know how cold Kiku keeps his house. I'll be fine. And I'll tell Mrs. Honda hello for you. Bye mom, dad!" He said as he closed the front door behind him.
Alfred was quite relieved to be out of there, especially after the clothing question was fired at him. Now that he was out, he didn't really know where to go though. Kiku's house was out of the question; they were visiting family in Tokyo this week, so they weren't home. He thought about maybe visiting an old friend of his, Natalia, but then he remembered how much she loved to give hugs, and immediately vetoed the idea. He went through a list of friends in his head, but realized that they were either busy, they liked hugs or they weren't close enough to him for Alfred to randomly drop by at 8:30 on a Thursday night.
So he decided to walk downtown. He lived in a small town in Virginia, complete with a fit-for-the-movies main street, homey atmosphere and cheap little shops. He could waste a few hours walking in and out of stores and around the few small blocks. By the time he would be done, his parents would be finished with dinner and probably in bed because they had another early flight out to work tomorrow.
When he reached the main street, it was decorated with the cheesy American flag decorations and red, blue and white streamers winding their way around lampposts that signified only one thing. The Fourth of July was tomorrow, and there would be a small parade, which for some reason always calls for the worst looking decorations in all of the state, if not in all of the country. But, despite the fact that they oozed cheap, he liked them nonetheless. It was nice to see that people still cared about the country, even though it wasn't in the best state right now.
Save for the decorations and a few other people, Alfred was pretty much alone as he walked down the paved street. Walking across from him in the opposite direction was some middle-aged woman that he vaguely recognized, but he couldn't place. She toted along a young daughter, maybe around six or seven years of age, with frizzy blonde hair, a beaming smile and bright eyes. Her enthusiasm and innocence almost reminded Alfred of himself as a child, so oblivious to the harsh reality that this world thrust upon your shoulders once your mind was mature enough to even begin to grasp it. Free of insecurity and self-doubt.
Alfred laughed quietly to himself. Oh, how age changes us. He was sounding like some old man who bequeathed wisdom gained over a long life of hardships to his grandchildren. And yet, he wasn't even quite an adult yet.
He meandered down the street for quite some time, passing a small general store, a couple of clothing boutiques, the police department and even the movie theater. He observed them through their windows, admiring how the clothing was hung and folded in neat, precise rows. He liked to think about how someone cared enough about patterned dresses and pressed slacks to take such care, to think that those clothes were someone's passion.
Alfred didn't really have any passions, other than keeping food at a distance. He used to love model airplanes, but somewhere in the past messed-up year, he had lost that hobby for some reason. Before the planes, it was video games, but those lost appeal too. Even football, one of his favorite sports, seemed dull to him after a while. Most things seemed uninteresting to him these days. It was as if the lack of nutrients was finally getting to his brain.
He stopped outside of a small shop at the end of the street. It was one he knew well. The shop, which sold everything from baseball caps to homemade preserves to nails, was something he and his father used to frequent when he was younger and his dad was still around. Struck by memories, he pulled open the glass door, the bell tingling as he did, and stepped inside the cool, dry store.
As soon as he did, he was overcome with nostalgia. He remembered the happy days, when his parents' marriage wasn't troubled and Alfred wasn't starving himself. When he passed through the doorframe, he was also hit was something else; the smell of fresh-baked fudge. It made his mouth water to a ridiculous extent and his stomach gnaw at itself in a desperate attempt to get him to eat.
Shit.
As soon as thoughts of fleeing to the scent-devoid street, a sweet old woman named Magdala popped her gray-capped head above the counter. "Well, hello there!" She was always cheery, Magdala. She had been since he was a child. "It's been a while since I've seen you, Alfred. My, how you've grown."
She was right about that. He was now about 5'10'', and towered over her less-than-five-foot figure. But he'd pretty much shrunk everywhere else. "Yeah, it's been a while." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. Please don't offer me anything. Please, Magdala.
"I was wondering if you would try some of the fudge I just made. Everyone else in town is at home, and I don't want to serve it to my customer's tomorrow without a taste-tester's approval."
"Oh, Magdala, I think I'll pass. I'm not really hungry." Oh god.
"Come now, Alfred. It's just a bite. You used to love my fudge when you were little." She was right, and his mouth was assaulted with memories of the taste.
"Well… I…" He trailed off. He couldn't do this. Fudge would never fly. Apples; sure. Oranges; why the hell not. But fudge? It was fatty and full of calories.
"Please dear?" That damn sweet face of hers could make Jack Frost himself melt into a puddle.
"Fine." His heartbeat picked up. "But just a little piece."
Unfortunately, Magdala's definition of 'a little piece' was very different from his. He stared at the piece of peanut butter and vanilla fudge in his hand, her signature, and painfully shoved the thing in his mouth.
Even though he wasn't supposed to be eating it, good god was it good. "It's great, Magdala. Really, it is. But I have to go now."
"Oh, alright, Alfred. I'll see you tomorrow then!" She called, smiling her old granny smile. "At the parade!"
"Yeah, sure." He responded.
Alfred rushed out onto the street, now empty, and hurried through the flickering light of the old lampposts. He didn't typically resort to bulimic habits, but he needed to get rid of what he just ate. He stumbled into one of the small, dark side alleys in between The Sunny Side Up Diner and the town hall, which was really just a tiny office space.
He took a deep breath and jammed two of his fingers down his throat, waiting until his gag reflex kicked in. When it did, he hunched over, bringing up sour-tasting bile. But there was something else too. He looked down. Splattered on the pavement was, in the poor light of early night, a black liquid. In his mouth remained a metallic tint. Blood.
Oh god. He suddenly didn't feel well. His stomach began doing somersaults and forcing more of the dark substance out of him. His vision began blurring and he felt light-headed. He grasped the edge of the stone wall, trying to stand, but ultimately fell to the cement ground.
With his back resting against the wall, he struggled for breath, attempting to force oxygen into his spastic lungs. It wasn't working and the feeling was terrifying. More terrifying than his first time on a roller coaster, more terrifying than the first time his mother had slapped, more fear-inducing than when his father came home drunk. It was even worse than the absolute alarm he experienced when he was forced to eat.
The panic rising in his chest, threatening to consume him, couldn't be stopped this time and he felt his mind get lost in the tidal surge. He was withering away in it. He felt week too, helpless to whatever this was. But despite the turmoil he was experiencing, he managed to feel sleepy.
He was so, so sleepy.
America's eyes opened wide, taking in the vast blue skies above him. He was instantly awake. After all, who needed sleep anyway? He jolted up, hearing his stomach grumble to protest not having a meal in a couple of hours.
"Hey, Mr. Buffalo?" He called out, a big furry beast making its way over to him. "Let's go get breakfast, huh? I'm starving!"
I apologize for taking so long to release this chapter. I was in a bad car accident and, since I had some head trauma, couldn't use the computer for a long time. Also, this chapter was hard for me to write since I used to struggle with anorexia. Anyway, I would really appreciate reviews! Next up is France, with a rather tragic story.
