Late again. You can probably tell I procrastinate on the chapters I don't like. See, my problem is I've got these notebooks lying around full of words, and they perhaps sit that way for three+ months until I get around to typing them up, and then by then I've made changes to things in the future that affect things in the past, but things in the past correlate to things in the future, and then I end up in a big mess when I try to smooth things out. That being said, I'm still procrastinating on chapters I don't like. This one, for example, is basically in the shorthand I wrote it in, but expanded and rounded out a little.
I also went on vacation to see my cousins :) That part was enjoyable. (After that I got my computer taken away for insubordination in the face of my mother or something else along the lines of that, so I have a viable excuse for two weeks missing)
Warning: Contains weird headcannon about the states, but I think you'll figure it out. You're smart people.
Review! :D
Pain, pain, pain. Everywhere is always pain. It's getting annoying, but it doesn't hurt any less, sadly. I wish it would.
America was cataloging his injuries. Aside from the constant dull ache along the scars, there was an insistent throbbing all along his neck that intensified when he moved. His vision was blurry, and was the light dimmer, or were his eyes damaged from some unknown head injury? At that moment, it was impossible to tell.
He tried anyway, rubbing his hands over his scalp to feel for any suspicious lumps or dents, and contrived to discover that the lenses had been knocked out of Texas. Poor Texans, the American thought vaguely, his mind more focused on the effects of his capture to his economy. He'd felt too many die during the vivisection; a general weakening of the limbs, a descending feeling, and the thought of his people, vulnerable and alone in the artificial night, sent a spark of anger into his veins.
The whole front of his jacket was sticky, he suddenly realized. The nation gently ran his hands over his ribs, and was rewarded with a burst of white-hot agony. Great, a broken rib, or two, and it's poking right through my skin. They were clumsy.
He knew he had a relatively fast healing rate. He was a nation, after all, whatever that was worth now. In fact, the rate of healing increased directly proportional to the number of hamburgers he'd eaten, and he did not want to have to rebreak his ribs, and the only solution that process left was shoving them back in.
Damn.
America peeled off his jacket and stuck it under his head, undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt. He took a few moments to stare at the wound.
Yes, there it was. The off-white bone poked through the thin membrane of his skin, and there were a few meaty pieces of flesh still clinging stubbornly to it. He could even see the split where his bones had used to be before they'd been jerked upwards. Already, the skin wasn't as raw looking as it had been moments ago, and as he watched, fresh pink skin began to overlay the wound. If that occurred and it healed all the way over, he'd never be able to fit his ribs back in.
Without thinking about what he was doing (thinking would lead to delay), the blond snatched one of the remaining shards of glass from Texas and rested it on his skin. Puncturing himself would hurt, a lot, and if he wasn't careful, he could go right through a lung and wreck himself worse. How many deaths would I cause then?
It's necessary, he consoled himself, and gritted his teeth. Absolutely necessary. He plunged the glass into his chest.
Surprisingly, it didn't sting immediately, though rich velvet blood started gushing right away. The dark liquid seemed to etch channels into his skin.
For a moment, America had an insane urge to drive the glass deeper, past the vessels and pinkish bladders of air that were lungs, straight into his heart as it vibrated inside him. He knew where it was; he'd seen his own reflection in the mirror.
Instead, he slowly (somewhat reluctantly) extricated the glass, discarded the bloody triangle, and without further ado, placed his hand on the unnatural smoothness of the bone and shoved.
He thought he'd known his threshold for pain. Granted, it'd leaped up highly in the past few days, but a few things, like the vivisection, went above and beyond. He was hoping he'd pass out at this time; in the movies, people always passed out.
He did not, was not granted a reprieve. He remembered his poor sore neck screaming along with the rest of him. It hurt, seeming to be millions more than a sting like the one on his neck, and the old healing one. He writhed about in agony.
Mercifully, the blaze didn't last long. Darkness enfolded him, and he drifted in a confused conglomerate of dreams and memories.
There was a screen on the wall and a planet, not earth or one he recognized, in livid shades of green and orange.
He was leaping from island to island to escape the toppling abyss, an endless flight upwards to defy gravity.
As he watched, the planet bloomed with gray patches, like mud, and then darkened to a sickening shade of pulsing poison green.
Weird things started falling past him. His arms tired. A tree, a teddy bear, a spinning block of marble. An arm. But none of that mattered; what was important was escaping his doom.
There were no resources left. That much he understood. Scores of tiny hexagonal flecks departed, came swirling outwards to scour the universe for alternate sources of energy while alien scientists worked frantically at chemicals he'd never seen of nor heard of to discover a miracle.
The stones he was hopping up decreased in size, until it was more as if he were bouncing off every particle of dust in the air instead of freefalling. Malevolent light shuddered all around him, and then the first body fell.
Eventually, after attacking and subsequently conquering several planets (with no luck), the aliens came to Earth. Equipment had picked up traces of something here that their planet did not have. It was possible this planetoid may save them, but they would have to blow it apart to reach the core, or find a new source. The leader of this particular armada, a rather scientific alien, was something of a pacifist, and wanted to bargain, but the citizens were tired of being shipped forwards and backwards through space and wanted results now. The leader bowed in, and sent a small fleet to kidnap those that seemed important.
At first, the bodies were unrecognizable, but each one looked gradually more and more like a nation he knew, clumsy, putty-molded features gradually becoming more and more refined, until they were. England, France, China, all of the ones who'd been unfortunate enough to be dragged aboard this floating hellhouse, sailing past him, blood handing in bright ribbons from their injuries. And then again, face clearer. He counted six Japans before the bodies were created perfectly enough to be real, if only sleeping.
Then the bodies began to decay.
The things he climbed were losing their mystical ability to send him springing upwards, and the surrounding dead hardly looked human anymore, lichen and rot trailing instead of blood. The abyss beneath him belched, and a wave of fire roared upwards, consuming the bodies and him as he fell. He burned-
And he awoke, sweating. America looked down at his ribs. Only another scar for the collection now, though his chest was still sore. At his rate, it'd be sooner rather than later that he'd be unable to come back together again.
He could feel the states in the back of his head clamoring for attention. Most of the time, he'd hushed them; he was busy. But now, the American was lonely, depressed, and feeling very unheroic and he needed to talk to anyone. So he opened his mind up.
The states were a rather whiny bunch when it really came down to it, and the first thing they did was screech out complaints and demand a refund. Listen, said the nation wearily. If you keep this up, I'll lock you up again.
'Locking up' referred to the superb tactic he ignored them with. It was as if he took all the voices and decided not to hear them, and that was it. His mind was as silent as he needed to be, and only when that room cracked did the states come pestering back in. It was a helpful technique. It'd kept him sane over the years.
A chorus of halfhearted apologies anwered him. Even though he was exhausted, America smiled. It was good to know he still had a handle on something in his messed up world.
One at a time. New York, you up first.
He's always first! It's not fair!
Be quiet, Mississippi. Wait your own turn. New York, go.
Well, it's been pretty bad, came the plaintitive voice. People aren't feeling well. Suicide rates are in the record highs, for people mourning the dead feel like they can't take it anymore. Times Square got this enormous sinkhole that swallowed half the area.
Delaware cut in. It's been pretty good in this area. Just the quakes and that one tsunami that nearly drowned Rhodey.
I told you, my name is Rhode Island. No more, no less. Just because you're the oldest doesn't mean you can make up annoying nicknames.
All right, America interrupted before things could escalate into an argument. How many of you were affected by the quakes? Best to find out now.
Me! I did! Utah as well, and-
Most of you? America interrupted. I don't need a long explanation.
Yes, clarified Virginia. Most of us. But it's not severe. Death tolls aren't that high, comparatively.
So who was it severe for? It was hard for him to tell; his whole body was aching.
We've had random storms, and the fact that there's no sun is taking a toll on our crop growth. There's been a flood here, too, and I can't breathe... Many of the states spoke up at once.
I had an ice storm! announced California. In summer! And Texas had a huge volcano...
Yes, I did. It sucks. The ash is even worse for the crops then the lack of sunlight, and it spread out over Oklahoma and the surrounding areas.
On cue, Oklahoma coughed, and then shrieked It's hard to breathe!
Frowning in thought, America asked, Which out of you is feeling pretty much okay?
We're fine! chorused the Carolina's. There was a storm line coming this way, but it dissipated, and the floods never even hit here.
I'm okay, piped up Iowa. And me! Kentucky said. Yes, I'm fine too, Florida muttered.
I would've known if you were hurt, Florida, America retorted with a hint of amusement.
Russians are migrating over to me to escape the fire, Alaska put in. You might feel a little strange again. Also, DC says hi. He's busy.
America was planning another remark when he was cut off by Hawaii's shout- Another quake! Another quake! It's a big one, too! Duck and cover - ugh!
The voices in his mind scattered to the corners of the compass, as if that would help them hide any better. His room was silent again, and America closed his eyes.
The quake hit.
This time, unconsciousness flooded up quickly, and saved him from anything worse than a simple pinprick. Like Sleeping Beauty, the light pain carried him gently away.