America

I'm sorry to all those who like this series, I can only write these when I'm not in a good mental state. Its my way to vent. That's why I haven't been updating this, I haven't had a reason to. I've had a couple bad days in a row so here you go. My suffering for your entertainment


America was use to the darkness, it was something that has been with him for as long as he could remember. There was an unyielding urge to go home. That's all he wanted. Just to go home. The only problem was that he didn't know where home was. He felt that no matter where he was. In his land, with his family. He just wanted to go home.

It was a sickening feeling. An urge that could never be fulfilled. It was a sickening that he had lived with since before he was a nation. He thought he could find home if he made it himself. England tried to help him, but America only pushed him away. Being around him only made the young nation sick. He wasn't home. He wasn't helping him.

America went for a revolution. He wanted to make home. England held himself higher than America and that made him sick.

The sickness didn't fade when America decided where he lived. Where he lived didn't mean his home. The darkness still clung to America, it felt like a cloak. A clinging sensation that entrapped his entire body. Sometimes, during his darkest hour, this cloak would gather around him like a hug. A cold hug that comforted him. It reminded him that he was alone, but slowly that stopped bothering him. The darkness was familiar, but it was also sickening.

He wanted to go home.

The sickness was a part of him. The cloak was a part of him.

He felt conflicted, he was home but he couldn't ignore the urge to return home. He wanted to go in one direction but he also felt the need to go in another. He was always being pulled in two opposing directions. He was always going one way while waning to go in another.

One way or another.

It was sickening.

He wanted to go home. He needed to keep moving.

It was sickening.

The sickness was a part of him, it made him feel hollow. Empty. He was never hungry. If he didn't force himself to eat, he wouldn't. It wouldn't be good for him, for his people. He had people to take care of, so he forced himself to eat.

He forced himself to eat on a schedule. As soon as he woke up or he wouldn't eat. And if he didn't eat then the sickness would settle in his stomach and make him unable to eat. If he didn't eat dinner, or eat it too early, he would go to bed hungry and feel too sick in the morning to eat.

His sickness liked to settle in his stomach. And if it chose to be there for too long, the cloak would wrap around him like a blanket.

The darkness was a blanket that comforted him. It was familiar. It helped numbed the pulling feeling. It helped numb to want. It helped numb the confusion. It gave him a pattern.

It covered him. It protected him.