Ireland bit back a painful cry as she clutched her now bleeding finger. Not again…
It was the third time that week, she got her blasted fingers caught in the dewing machine.
She rocked back and forth, sucking the finger and cursing herself for being so clumsy.
This machine was really a pain though. It was loud, smelly, and not very safe- which Ireland had learned the hard way.
She blinked back tears, and looked down at the now ruined piece of cloth. America would be disappointed. America really didn't seem to realize just how her machine was to work. He would wake her up every morning really early, even before the cock crowed, and have her off to work. Ireland wouldn't complain though, because when she did, America would do a guilt-trip move on her. His bright, cheery smile would drop, and his eyes had the look of a wounded puppy.
"C'mon Ireland, I'm helping you- can't you help me with this teensy job?"
She couldn't help but apologize, and work even harder for the rest of the day. It was those darned blue eyes.
Maybe that was why that puppy-dog eye trick didn't work on England- he must've become immune while America was still his colony. Darn America…
Ireland's feelings had definitely changed towards the powerful nation.
She learned that he was very selfish. Even though he had promised to take care of her- she could still feel her people suffering.
She only ate two meager meals a day, barely enough to keep her from keeling over, and whenever she would nod off at the machine, he would bang obnoxiously on the door, waking her up, and often causing her to mess up the fabric.
Her workload doubled too, when her fingers became more nimble with the delicate needles and threads. America began demanding more and more shirts.
How many shirts did a nation need?
Many times, when America would turn to leave, Ireland would feel hatred bubble up inside.
The times when she really wanted to hurt him, was when he would make jokes, or say something racist against the Irish. Perhaps it was just a joke, or maybe he didn't know she was sitting 5 feet away from him, but she definitely heard. And it hurt.
As her people were hurting and hating, Ireland was hurting and hating with the same passion.
The potatoes weren't getting any better though, and the days wore on without end. Endless weeks turned into months, which finally turned into years.
How much time went by, Ireland couldn't tell you, but it was 1861, when she heard the news.