He gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw as he heard about Niall's birthday for the 39th time that day. It was so annoying when every girl in your class loved a stupid boy band for their looks and accents and had to talk about them all the time. They had even formed little fangirling groups. Alfred sat in his first period, AP Human Geography, at the front of the class. They had been assigned their seats, and his desk was at the front surrounded by people who didn't even try to talk to him. He had missed out on the opportunity to make friends before they all started grouping together the first week of school because of this issue.

So far, high school had had its good points but also the bad. He loved being able to wear shorts and flip-flops to school. It was Florida after all. It was awesome going to a non-fundamental school! There were people with color in their hair and there were vending machines positioned everywhere around the school. It was a little harder to eat healthy with such a weird lunch system but who could complain when you got to eat French fries and drink Sprite all day? The newfound freedoms of Alfred's high school were so amazing. He had so many opportunities to use his phone even during class and everyone was listening to their iPods as they walked from class to class. Maybe he should bring his one day.

The American was so used to rule after rule after rule and overpowering expectations that this change could be viewed as...well, kinda nice. But then again, there were just some things he couldn't let go. Like the fact that his stupid AP class was giving him too much homework, and not because it was AP either. And then his 2nd period that was taught by the same teacher was supposed to be a study hall but the teacher used it as an excuse to give them more work. So annoying...

On top of the homework, Alfred had no friends. None. He had somehow developed his brother, Matthew's, personality so he had a very hard time making friends. No one even liked what he liked or cared about others. They were all way too mainstream! But not having any friends hurt a lot, and no matter how hard he tried, it was always the same. It happened every year.

Being too absorbed into his thoughts while staring at the 87% B he got on a test, Alfred had failed to notice Arthur turning in his seat to look at him, finishing his conversation with the three girls adjacent to them.

"You got a B on that easy test?"

"Yeah, Arthur, I did. G-T-F-O!"

"...do I want to know what that means?"

"I just told you to go away all bad ass-y."

"Nice."

Arthur continued to stare at the younger blonde. He was only younger by a few months but still. Alfred was slumped in his chair looking at the stapled papers, refusing to look at him. He had held back on their deal but he wasn't willing to wait much longer...although it was pretty fun to watch Alfred wonder when he'd do something. He was always trembling while near him or ignoring him as much as possible. Arthur had been nice and gave Alfred a chance to get used to high school before taking anything further. But it had already been two weeks since the deal was decided. It was time for a little fun.

Arthur reached for Alfred and petted his forehead, causing the American to swivel his head around and stare blankly at him. It was obvious what was going on in his mind: WTF ARE YOU DOING? !

"Are you okay, Alfred? You seem tired." He continued to rub the soft skin between his eyes and hairline.

"Um, yeah. But are you okay, Arthur?" Alfred made sure that his hints were stretched out enough. Why the heck was he being so weird?

Arthur chuckled and placed his hand back on his desk. He watched as Alfred huffed and turned once again to stare at his desk but this time his face was a complete emotionless surface. It almost seemed like Arthur could drop a pebble onto his cheek and see spherical ripples explode from where the small object landed, like a pond, yet come back together unchanging until the next pebble was dropped. The American's eyes were glassy and showed no feeling at all. He could have been dead and he would have believed it...but why was the usually overexcited blonde this expressionless?

Alfred curled his fingers into Nevada, his hands turning into fists and cruelly crumbling the state in his palm. Alfred didn't want to yell, kick, or scream. He didn't want to write it out, what he was feeling. The closest object to him as he carelessly sat on the edge of his bed was his USA blanket, so the world power got Alfred's beatings as he incarcerated his frustrations.

The world could end and he would welcome it at this point. It would at least save him the trouble of waiting decades and decades to die. He was dismayed with his life. With the divorce that left violent imprints on the shattered remnants of his poorly made heart. With the jealousy and sadness that came with being forced to watch someone better than him be better at everything every single day. With how no one tried to befriend him or accept his attempts to make friends, how they cared for only themselves and never took other's problems seriously. Every year he was overcome with the sorrow of being neglected by his peers. Every year. EVERY. YEAR.

The anger and disgust with this hateful world poured down his body and engulfed his once sober mind. Why did no one ask him about himself? Why was it always Alfred that had to start a conversation or listen to everyone's problems? Why was it that his parents divorced? How come people always passed him by and never cared to give him a second glance? Who really cared about him? Was one true friend in at least one of his classes a godforsaken gift?

It was the small drip from his eye, to his cheek, to his hand that startled him. The blonde touched a finger to the small wet spot on the back of his hand as if to test to see if it was real. The same finger traveled to his right eye, touching the rim of denied tears resting before the trip down to his palm like the first. He...he was crying. Crying? Why would he possibly be crying now? It was too late for tears. The world would not look upon him now because of shameful droplets tumbling down his face. All Alfred wanted was to be noticed. For people to enjoy his company and actually choose to sit with him. To choose him to partner with. To wonder why he had missed a day of school or to mention if he did something different to his appearance. Just some type of recognition. But that would not happen anytime soon. Alfred's mind was decided.

With a gradual pace, the American slipped something out of his jacket pocket and into the open air. His thumb caressed the object's side before he flicked it and its full terror was unleashed.

A pocket knife.

Unlike the many movies he'd seen, there was no dramatic symphony drumming in his ears or a worried look from a friend passed his way. It was just him. It was his turn to shine.

...Would anyone care? Would people take time to listen to his story? What story did he have? Will Gilbert try to see him before he was buried or burned into ashes? ...Will Arthur go home?

Alfred's mind flashed thoughts like a strobe light but once his eyes finally reached the tip of the knife's sharp edge, it went blank at once. He didn't know what it felt like to die and had never been curious to find out. A tremble overtook his body and a scared gasp threatened to creep from his throat but he held it in. Heroes weren't scared. A hero had the courage to do something like this.

Alfred reached for the door and locked it to the best of his abilities with his unsteady hand. Luckily it was close enough to his bed that he didn't have to abandon his spot and the knife. It was now or never; he would never have this courage again. The knife glinted in his vision like it had the audacity to casually smirk. Like it was saying, "Ha, I knew you would never go through with it. You always fail."

His face contorted into rage. The last intact shard of his heart had been thoroughly stomped on and shoved into the dirt. The pieces were smaller than the atoms forming the broken segments of his heart. They could no longer be found, not in the dirt that would soon turn red from what his mind was telling him to do.

Where was he supposed to cut? His wrist? Well...his neck would make things much quicker in the end. Hopefully the pain would mercifully cease and he would die quickly.

Knife to his throat, breath stinging his lungs with every shivering gasp as he realized what he was about to do, he sliced the knife through everything in its path.

He heard a cry. And that was it.

Sorry for making Alfred so OOC. He's supposed to share my life and...well...I'm Canada. No Hetalia joke intended. Lately I've been feeling like this although I didn't take the time to actually write out everything I've been feeling. I still have to do my homework right now so I'm trying to finish this chapter quickly. Sorry I haven't updated any of my stories in so long. I'm busy. I also can promise you I won't do what Alfred did since I don't have the courage to do that. This story also isn't over yet. The ending was a little too unclear, you know? Did Alfred die? ...Did he live? Who knows, I could be insinuating that he comes back to earth as something inhuman. Or I'm just trying to trick you into thinking that so that no one can guess this plot so easily.