Alfred's thoughts: blah blah blah
Billy: blah blah kill arthur blah blah
WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MY BROTHER?!
YOU IDIOT I'M TRYING TO KILL HIM SO I CAN LIVE!
The air was suddenly suffocating as Billy's words echoed through his head.
What do you mean 'I'm trying to kill him so I can live'? Is Arthur trying to kill you?
...Arthur doesn't know I exist...
Why would his death let you live?
...
Billy-
I'll kill you too, one day.
Alfred's blood ran cold. Billy was going to kill him too? What the hell? What the hell was going on? He suddenly felt ill and looked at the knife he had swapped for at the kitchen. The shone in the moonlight that came in through the holes in the barn and reminded him of water sparkling from the sun.
...don't do it, boy...
...
You better listen to me! Don't you dare do it!
...
...I know what you're thinking! It's not the-
"Shut up"
Without a moment's hesitation, he plunged the knife into his thigh and dragged it down to his knee. Blood speeped into his clothes and drenched the hay beneathe him red. He pulled the crimson blade out and blood spurted all over his face and hands. As soon as the knife left he thrust it in again and stabbed his right thigh repeatedly. His body was growing pale from bloodloss, but he knew that it woudln't kill him. By now he was covered in red and the pain from his wounds was insane.
Just like Billy.
Billy was wailing and thrashing in Alfred's mind and the young american drew some sick satsifaction from the demon-boy's pain.
The pain was horrible...but he didn't cry.
His body was trembling as his life gushed out from his leg...but he didn't cry.
He had forgotten how to cry...
If people knew the date of their death,
they would probably live differently,
but people are mortals,
and they are merely puppets to their desires,
if the sun shone just a little brighter,
maybe death would be different,
but instead it comes like a shadow,
and watches like a hawk,
death is close-my dear friend,
so keep watch,
Alfred had healed and washed off by dawn. He threw the knife into the river, cleaned the barn with a rag, switched out the hay, taken a bath, and changed his clothes.
But he still felt dirty.
He felt unclean.
Ashamed.
Frightened.
Yes, frightened. He knew what he had to do...he didn't want to-but he knew what he had to do...he had to split from Arthur.
If he gained independence he could save Arthur from his death.
He had to do it.
To protect him.
Because he was his big brother.
And he would do anything for him.
Anything...
Years passed, and Alfred grew into a fine young man.
A fine young man who had learned so many things.
He had learned how to deal with Billy by inflicting pain on himself-and he knew how to hide it. He knew where to get new clothes and where to hide the blood. He knew how to act and he was sure if he was human he could have earned a medal for best actor or something.
Or something.
Arthur had started taxing his people. His citizens were pissed off and had begun rioting too.
Perfect.
He was the one who slipped a forged document from Arthur's boss onto his desk about new taxes. His people would get angry and he would have a reason for gaining independence.
All according to plan.
He even managed to gather a group of random colonists and dump Arthur's tea in the harbor.
...he like that tea too...
He also had made a new friend.
His name was Bit.
At first he had just thought that Billy had finally learned to shut up. Of course, when his reflection changed from Billy's to someone who looked more like him, he was speechless.
Bit said that he subconsiously created him to help him seperate from Arthur. He also added that he wasn't the same thing as Billy-but didn't specify what Billy actually was.
Alfred had a feeling that Bit didn't know what Billy was either.
More years passed and a fourth person crammed into America's mind.
His name was Andrew.
Once again, he said that he was created by Alfred in order to help him with politics and that he was different that Billy.
Alfred's only thought was that his head was getting way too crowded.
Even move years passed and apparently Alfred had Multiple Pesonality Disorder, or, more commonly, Dissociative Idenity Disorder.
But that only applied to Bit and Andrew.
Billy was another matter entirely.
He was prescribed pills by a doctor who knew about the nations.
He said something about it helping supress his personalities-but that it wouldn't get rid of them.
Alfred took them but never used them.
He never touched them in over a decade.
He was too afraid.
Too afraid to disappear.
Because one question had haunted him since the day Billy appeared to him while he was playing with his soldiers...
What if I'm not real?