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smashconTitle: Daydream Syndrome
Author: L. E Trickery
Rating: PG
Prompt: Exploration
Fandom/Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Word Count: 5509 Words
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and solely to their original creator and I do not gain any profits from the story and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Summary: England, after having a fight with Sealand that rekindles past memories decided to drink off his pain but it only creates a weird situation where he must journey through his own mind. But will he escape or not from the corners of his most darkest of doubts.
Daydream Syndrome
The representation and personification of the United Kingdom rubbed at his temples, practically feeling his eyes grow red with exhaustion; it was so near to the end of the meeting and America just had to be the one speaking. If it had been Germany then maybe he could have bared the hour that remained of listening to all the different issues currently plaguing the world. But he could hardly bare to listen to more ridiculous theories of superheroes and hamburgers; not to mention that he had slept much later than what he would have the night before. His patience was much less than the average amount and even that he knew wasn't something to boast about. England checked his watch again for probably the sixth time in the last ten minutes; time wasn’t moving any quicker, not that he expected it to.
He looked over to his notes, he’d usually be scrawling down something but as it was the United States of America speaking, there wasn’t anything worth righting down. Lethargically, he began tapping the end of his pen on the desk, eager to find some way to entertain himself; glancing over to the other nations, they were all pretty much in the same state as he was.
The world wasn’t exactly in the least chaotic state right now. Not with all the drama happening in the Middle East, the Eurozone financial issue was only increasing with the days and North Korea had caused the news to blow up a little while back. And here was America boasting about heroes, England understood that the superpower; America, really thought about these issues, he just wasn’t that good at talking about them when it wasn’t vital or last minute. Despite this, there were occasional moments where the latter nation made sense, occasional being the main word.
England’s head suddenly shot up, he had heard something which he hadn’t heard in a while; a certain obnoxious shuffling from under the table. Maybe it was because he was tired but how could he have not noticed before? He growled under his breath, a couple of the nation’s sitting next to him turning their heads in confusion before he stated with conviction, “Sealand.”
He tapped his foot as he waited for a reaction.
And a reaction he got, it may not have been said particularly loud but it was enough for England to furrow his caterpillar-like eyebrows. Sealand muttered a curse, he was so close to having been through the whole meeting without discovery for once. His frustration was followed by another mutter of, “Jerk England.”
“Sealand, come out of there before I have to bloody drag you out myself.” Britain ordered, his headache only becoming more and more defined.
“No. I don’t belong to you anymore; I don’t have to follow any of your stupid orders!” The young micro nation protested, the table muffling the clarity of the sound.
England sighed, “But honestly is being under the table really that comfortable? These meeting don’t even concern you. Why do you always insist on coming to them?”
Said micro nation crawled out from under the table, his characteristic eyebrows furrowing as he glared at his older brother. “All nations attend these meetings and I’m a nation, so why can’t I?”
“You’re a micro nation.” England emphasised.
“Shut up-”
“Don’t speak to me like that boy!” England shouted suddenly, causing rows of heads to turn their way. They had seen such things before but it was much more interesting than listening to America drabble on.
“Why not? You talk to me like that! All I want to do is to find out about world issues but you don’t even let me go to one meeting.” Sealand yelled.
“You don’t need to know about such details in these meetings. You’re just a boy.”
“I am a nation. Why are you so uptight about these things? You’re such a jerk!”
England suddenly looked around, seeing all the other nations looking at them embarrassment flooded the Brit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I only do this for your benefit, you simply do not need to attend these meetings!”
“No you don’t, you don’t do anything for anyone else except yourself!” the smaller blond huffed being completely and utterly frustrated with his former guardian; he never gave him any opportunities. “You know what England! I’m not surprised all your colonies left you!” England froze, shock intent on his face listening to the boy continue, “You’re such a jerk! They all hate you and just couldn’t stand you that they all had to leave!”
The room was stifled with a choking silence. The once quiet air conditioning became like a siren at the pregnant pause. Other nations froze partially in shock but Sealand continued. “You might have been an empire but the whole world just hates you! Look at all the nations that left you. No wonder you’re so lonely.” Sealand heaved a breath, the rant exuding his energy. His eyes locked onto England’s but seeing the stunned expression, the micro nation realised he had crossed the line. England blinked, the words progressively registering in his mind. Nations closer to the Brit glanced at each other, knowing how sore the topic was for him.
England stood there. He couldn’t move. The words echoed harshly in his mind, Sealand’s insensitive words repeating over and over again but he had to say something. He had to, to show that he wasn’t breaking down inside.
“Well if that’s what you think.” The words fell stickily down his tongue, he was surprised that he didn’t stutter with the feeling that his insides were being sucked out. He licked his dry lips. He didn’t know what to say next, just letting the sentence die there, nodding awkwardly. England noticed that he was standing and returned to his seat; now just simply begging for the meeting to end.
*
England shoved open his door, his body feeling totally physically and emotionally drained; dropping his briefcase and jacket on the back of his couch, loosening his tie as he walked into his kitchen. Instantly, he grabbed a glass of whiskey and drowned the contents, eyes closed at the familiar burn down his throat. He let out a breath. Finally letting the tears run down his cheeks, he drank more of the alcohol; wanting to burn that feeling away.
England sank down onto the floor, the cold tiles only numbing him even more. He muttered things to himself incoherently, his voice coming out in gasps as he sobbed, the strong liquid short-cutting his senses. Throwing the glass away, he grabbed the bottle, drinking straight from it. One hand clenched around the brown tinged glass, the other ruffling his already dishevelled hair. “Of course they all hate me; it’s completely,” he sniffed, “understandable. I mean like, who in hell would like someone like me?”
The Englishman finally dragged himself up from the now meek-warm tiles, drudging his way to his lounge room; the nation stumbling with hazy eyes, hand still holding a bottle though it was a different one, the golden coloured liquid sloshing. Landing on the couch, his bloodshot eyes were still watery but he had long since resigned to just drinking himself out. Britain took another sip of the drink but the words still hadn’t stopped repeating in his mind, only making more memories resurface from whence he buried them in his consciousness. “Well at least I won’t remember anything in the morning.” England drained the last few drops of the whiskey, sighing when he felt the last of the liquid burning down his raw throat.”
“Oh great, now I’m just remembering everything. I guess Sealand was right; everyone just seems to leave me…even if I try to make them stay. I just always end up pushing everyone away.” The blond wanted desperately to go get another bottle to soak up his troubles but he did not have the motivation or the energy to move from his position on the couch, instead he opted to wait for the alcohol to take effect and knock him out from his misery. “I’ve just given up trying I guess…I’m just some pathetic, lonely bastard.”
He could finally feel the fuzziness overriding his mind, everything becoming blurry in the dark room. He had neglected to turn on the lights and the darkness seeped at the edges of his sight. Everything turned topsy-turvy and upside down before he closed his eyes. Giving up the instinctual battle to keep awake, the aftertaste of the alcohol tingled at his tastebuds.
Had he just imagined the click of the front door? It didn’t matter anyway, because at that moment he would succumb to the oblivion that was his own mind.
*
France always had the keys to England’s place; the opposite was the same even though the two would never admit to it. He had seen the fight at the meeting today and even he could feel pity for his greatest enemy, having raised a couple of colonies himself. If someone had ever directed that insult to him he would feel himself collapse and could only imagine what the other was feeling right now. It was only to be expected what would happen when he had opened the door. The stench of alcohol wafted in the air, “I should have expected this…”
The Frenchman walked cautiously into the room, England was…unpredictable when drunk but he suspected that he would only be extremely depressed tonight; he probably wouldn’t have the energy to do anything else. Seeing the fuzzy mop of hair lying on the couch, bottle lopsided on the floor, he felt relief flood him; at least he was asleep. It was tiresome to deal with any sort of drunk England at any time of day. Walking closer to his fellow nation he rolled his eyes at the expression that England had on his face, he always looked so different when he slept, that fact hadn’t changed since the short days when they were young and free of responsibility.
Slipping his hands under the younger nation, he carried him up; arching his own neck to look at the steps as he climbed up the stairs, not wanting to trip holding the other. France nudged the door to the bedroom with his foot, walking into the simple room. The windows were open and the curtains glowed a white similar to the light of when a sculpture has been carved so thin that the light just manages to seep through. Putting the sleeping Brit on the barely creased sheets, he closed the window, a small smile etching on his lips when he could hear the other turn in his sleep. France absentmindedly ruffled the other’s hair before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.
*
England blinked his eyes open; white overwhelming his senses, a hand instinctively coming to shield his vision, wondering when his eyes would finally focus. His head was unusually clear for a hangover but he wasn’t complaining. He squinted, everything was still white. It was then that it dawned on him, he had already gotten used to the level of light, it was just that everything was white, just an endless expanse of the colour. He took a few steps, gazing at the floor below him; there wasn’t any echo; only a windless void of white. “Either I’m dead or I’m having a really weird dream.”
He noticed that the sound of his voice wavered in the atmosphere for a few seconds before just dying out; it was a weird sensation. He stared determinedly into the distance to find any sort of edge or crevice or shadow to the unending whiteness. But there wasn’t anything and staring at it hoping it would change wasn’t going to get him anywhere; it just blended together until it made him dizzy to keep concentrating on the same space. England pursed his lips, he felt oddly transparent like any small murmur of movement could cause him to fall apart, and he had no feeling of time whatsoever. Taking a random step in the direction he was facing, he started walking; there had to be something in this odd whiteness.
There was no particular source of light, light was everywhere, coming in from all angles. An all-consuming world of white and scattering; the only thing he could compare it to was that if he was a leaf in the wind with no choice or understanding of his path or what his fate would be. He felt no time but he felt lighter than he had ever been, he could just start flying. He felt as if everything had been washed off; all the stress and worries that had been plaguing him for hundreds of years.
How many steps had he taken? How far was he from his starting point? Was there really any point in walking? But he didn’t feel any sort of exhaustion; England shoved his hands into his pockets and continued walking, it wouldn’t do any harm to continue walking, after all if there wasn’t any point in doing it then was there any point in not doing it?
“I can only explore to achieve some sort of logical knowledge…” England chuckled to himself, “Such a limbo reminds me of my time at sea. Now that I think about it, it’s not that different. Gambling everything for the sake of curiosity, I guess that’s what exploration is isn’t it?” He asked himself, leaning backwards as he walked towards whoever knew where. “A way to satisfy our never-ending curiosity.”
He sighed, “I miss the age of discovery.”
For some reason, England noted, he had started to walk faster; hands no longer in his pockets but held on his side. Feeling an odd presence behind him, he looked behind, the blond slowing down to a halt. He scrutinized the rough area of the feeling behind him, raising an eyebrow when he saw a sort of crack in the whiteness. Tilting his head to gaze at the imbalance in the scenery, he retracted his head and took a few steps back when suddenly realising the crack was growing, or more accurately, breaking apart. The white floor broke into pieces like a puzzle thrown off the table it was originally built on and then started to be sucked up by a luminescent black hole.
“Shit.” He muttered under his breath before he turned and broke into a run, not knowing the effect of the collapse but the fear of the unknown causing him to turn tail and sprint anywhere away from the growing destruction. There was no sound to the falling apart of the void, no ominous cracking or a shattering akin to glass; just noiseless disintegration.
England continued running, he didn’t know why but he just did. In a weird sense it mirrored the adrenaline feeling of when he was a pirate and he had been trapped by storms. He felt exhilarated, scared but euphoric with energy and purpose. And for an instant he was back in the past. Sailing before a wave three times the height of his ship, barking orders at his crew, eyes filled with an electric fire as his existence was weighed on the balance scales of life and death.
He sprinted, dashed, ran; almost able to feel the sea spray on his face once again. Looking back again he saw only the expanse of destruction increase, catching up to him. Snapping his head back in front, he spied other cracks opening in front of him as well. He was trapped, but the resolution caused no fear to instil within him. Only more excitement. His mind put sound to the destruction rushing towards him.
He looked down at the endless expanse that the white floor was falling into like shards of glass. Splinters of white fell from above him as well as around him until all he could see was the uneven broken shattering of the world around him. A smile stretched on his face as he felt the last of the sturdy white before he fell backwards into the multi-coloured emptiness. He felt the rush of falling dragging him down to some unknown source of gravity, the shards of white perishing to dust around him and the darkness intensifying in depth until it consumed him whole. With the heaviness surrounding him, England could only recall an interesting theory of dark matter before he and his senses were swallowed.
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland sat up. Well at least there was a floor in this void. But this time he could only see blackness around him in contrast to the white world he was in before. In the previous world he had felt transparent but now he felt weighed down, like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. The pressure of everything seemingly directed at him; the presence never leaving him but he stumbled up and walked. A much more insistent fear surrounded him now, maybe it was just that it was entirely black. All things bright and empty were absent and had been sucked away or consumed by the darkness.
“I wonder where I am now.” England tried out his voice in this new world, the sound travelled around him seeming like it resonated into the unknown with an echo trailing forever and forever until its path was lost to England. This place was like the polar opposite to the other world. While the other was absent of substance, this place was filled with it. It was a gooey world with all the substance and gravity that the other world didn’t have, lacking all light. Every step was a trial; an unsure step would cause him to drown in black, choking him. It was like water.
“I’m good at hiding my fear of water; I’ve sailed and conquered the seven seas themselves but I never looked down into the sea itself.” England looked down at the black, “That depth, that fear that if I ever became swallowed by it I would be forgotten and lost. Not only just dead but all essence of me disappearing without the knowledge of other people, without making any sort of impact on the world I had seen before me was terrifying. Forgotten and alone.” England gulped, the words had clogged his throat and now they just hung around him, adding to the weight on him.
“Being isolated can really do that to you.” The Englishman looked out at the expanse, telling himself that it was the same as the white world but only black, physically it would be the same; that the fear was only an illusion created by himself. “But that’s another reason for exploration isn’t it? If we are alone we look for something to tell us that we aren’t, that there’s something else. Some sort of purpose that we can look forward to.”
He continued, not knowing where he was going even less then when he was in the white expanse; wondering which one would be worse to be stuck for eternity in. Time warped around him so that he felt like it had been days on end. It was torturous that he could not stop walking. He simply felt no need to stop, but continuing walking only made him feel worse, like he was indeed forever stuck at the bottom of the sea.
“Please give me something to look to, any sort of light or beacon. Give me a purpose.” England whispered into the darkness, the effects on his mind causing him mental exhaustion though his physical state was fine. “I don’t want to feel this again. Not anymore.”
He turned his head trying to find some sort of sign in the black, scrunching his forehead when he saw a twinkle of light in the distance. It sat there obnoxiously like it had always been there or maybe it had and England just didn’t notice it before. But a tingling in the back of his mind said it had just appeared then. That was another factor of the encompassing darkness, he could never be sure of something. Shrugging he walked towards the light, but each step only brought him one step further from the light. England heaved a frustrated sigh before he started to run towards the light. He wanted to get there. Just one step closer would make him happy but nothing was working. He remained the same distance away from it, but it was more like he had just gone further away from the light than where he originally started.
Groaning, he sat down pathetically on the spot where he was standing. He flexed his fingers before he started strategising a way to reach the light. However, there wasn’t any way to get to that light. If every step just brought him further away from it then what was the point? It was his life itself. Every effort made to try getting closer to other nations would only push them away; his island was forever isolated from everybody else. He held his head in his hands, messing up his hair as the confusion racked over his brain. He could try travelling away from the light purposely, but these sorts of worlds had a way of tricking you. He had to give up the sense of reality, space or time; all those concepts had just been created by humans, he had watched enough of Doctor Who to realise several things.
“I am bloody Great Britain for god’s sake, the once called empire on which the sun never set. I am going to get to that light if it’s the last thing I bloody do.” England stood up with a new conviction and he started sprinting again towards the light. The sensation that he was running through treacle not slowing him down, causing him only to push himself further. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut as he reached out unconsciously.
A yelp of surprise escaped him as he abruptly felt all the previous weights unexpectedly leave him and he fell forwards onto a black floor. He no longer felt like he was about to bust because of conflicting pressures. England looked behind him, seeing the first physical object he had seen in both of the worlds. The jelly-like shape looming above was a black but a black darker than the dimension; it was glossy and sticky looking and it made him feel sick. There was no shape to describe it, it only extended and grew all over with spikes and tentacles; a forgotten, pitiful bulbous growth of blackness. He did not want to continue looking at the thing; it only made him nauseous. Breathing heavily he looked down, onto a shard of light.
“Bloody hell.” He gave a drained but relieved smile, squatting down to examine the white-ish shard. Leaning over to pick it up in his hand, shocked to find it didn’t have any weight at all. The light blinded him, the sort of blindness you get from looking at the sun directly for too long, but the Brit didn’t mind.
A sound alerted him to the revolting growth behind him, the structure starting to shake and stretch. The whole world started to tremor before England but he clutched onto the shard before him, his fingers tightening around the weightless source of light; the shaking only increasing until it resembled an earth quake. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw the black structure burst with massive intensity. It disintegrated from top to bottom, the explosion akin to a volcano with a little too much gas. Explosions erupting everywhere, England grabbed the shard of light so tight that if it had been glass his hands would’ve been covered in blood.
The growth lost its structure and started to collapse, breaking down into a tsunami of waxy jelly, sloshing it’s way too England, the Brit turning away before he was overrun by the wave. He caught his last glimpse of the shard of light before it blinked away completely. England stood in shock; stationary in the chaos, the light leaving his hands as he grimly looked back to see the black gluey substance about to engulf him. Closing his eyes in resignation, he waited for it to come.
But nothing came over him, so England wrenched his eyes open to see the wave of darkness rush past him transforming into a sparks of light after passing him. He gazed up seeing the spurs of light fly around him and land in the darkness, illuminating the black liquidly ‘sky’ if he could call it that. Each of the sparks collided into what looked like a dome of a pitch black sea and locked themselves into place before growing in brightness. England gaped up at the sky, his eyes wide as if he was a child again, looking for the first time at the night sky. The universe mounted before him in all its blunt greatness and never ending vastness; the sparks of light that came from the growth shining as brightly as any of the stars. England couldn’t help but let a smile slip across his face, the wave of lights still continuing to surround him. He reached out to one of the flying sparks, its vividness reflecting on his eyes as he tapped it with his finger. His mind swiftly became overwhelmed with memories.
The Englishman stood there dazed in a memory that was long forgotten, a memory where he and a few nations had wandered into a park at night on a search for Italy. It was a brilliant night and the sky stood out to him most. It wasn’t something new to notice but it seemed to amaze him. He had gazed out to the constellations so stunning from his pirate days.
The memory suddenly switched gears and he was standing on his pirate ship once again, his boots clacking on the deck. Staring up at the sky, he looked at the same constellations to lead him home after a long, tiring voyage.
He snapped out of the vision, his other hand instantly tapping another spark; another memory consuming him. He was playing tag with a young Canada and America, after being chased and tackled by both, they all looked towards the sky at all the stars; feeling how small they really were compared to the rest of the universe. Everyday day after that he continued to see those stars reflected in both of their eyes.
Another memory shot at him. During the chaos of world war one there was always one battle he remembered. That night, the sky had stretched over the Christmas night and it wasn’t bogged down in ominous clouds for once. In a last ditch effort to celebrate the holiday, he and Germany and their forces had played soccer into the night. Even for one night, they wished desperately to forget the burdens of the war and the depression that all the countries faced in the darkness of conflict and death. It had been a good night that he would always bear in mind, a shared thought by both sides with a common goal; victory for their nations. Who knew what the fate of their people would be after that moment, but it was a moment that they all shared and it would be remembered in history. Friendships were made that night and it was merely England’s wishful thinking that those friendships would have lasted.
The moment when the Second World War had ended his nation erupted into a victorious shout of happiness and relief. His streets were alive, especially after the long years that they all had endured; it gave him goose bumps and brought him to tears. For that single moment, he could feel his whole nation share a single heartbeat, a single notion, a single moment where they all held the same thought and a smile.
England let the memory pass, coming up with another one back in the folds of history itself, it was at the edge of dawn where the imprints of the stars were barely visible. He had found a comfortable spot in the crevice of France’s collar bone. It was ages before the battles, war and unrest; a time where they were both still friends, where they could talk, smile and laugh together without any worries or burdens. He used to pretend he was asleep and would feel the ghosting impressions of France’s hands in his hair. It was a time when they were truly happy.
England sighed with a content smile on his face, entering a couple more memories and grabbing a few of the sparks dancing around him. He could see all the memories in his life flashing before him; all the great and sad moments folding up into a radiant sphere. The darkness and light combined together and he let one last spark land in his hand, closing his eyes to fall into the memory. He couldn’t remember when or why but he was with all the nations. He could see his former colonies and his previous enemies and allies and for one lost second they all shared a single purpose. They shared a driving force that humanity always faced and euphoric happiness that needed no expressing or no need of mentioning of. He could see it in the eyes of the others, everyone had what they held dear to them and though there might have been differences there was always the same feeling of life and purpose; of curiosity and the need to seek knowledge; to find out, to feel, to be happy; to explore.
To understand.
England held the shard close to him letting the edges of darkness and light blend together so that there wasn’t any difference. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall through his consciousness; the illusions of his mind and all the boundaries he created to later destroy. Reality was a human concept after all and any sort of exploration was the extended exploration of the mind and the illusions it created. But who could say that illusions were not reality if reality was all just illusions. And with a smile England; Arthur Kirkland; woke up to his own illusion of reality.
*
England stretched his arms, he didn’t have a head ache luckily and he doubted if he could handle one after what he had been through. It was strange though, he always had a headache after drinking himself to oblivion. Even more surprisingly was that he just couldn’t stop smiling; shaking his head he got up from his bed. It was funny, he didn’t remember going to the bedroom, but he usually forgot such details. Stretching again he walked down, the scent of freshly cooked breakfast wafting and delighting his senses. Once he had caught the smell he realised why he had woken up in the bed.
“Good morning, France.”
The French nation looked surprised and greeted him from over his shoulder before returning his concentration onto his cooking again. Wondering why the other seemed like he was in such a good mood.
“Hey, Iggy don’t forget about me.” A certain boisterous voice called.
England rolled his eyes, “Now why are you here America?”
“America and I brought Sealand over for him to apologise for what he said to you at the meeting.” Canada stated, next to his brother, dragging out a nervous Sealand avoiding all eye contact. America nudged the young nation in the back with an odd hardness and smiled at him with his classic American smile.
“Well…” Sealand fiddled with his fingers, unable to look into the British nation’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry for saying those things to you England. Everyone doesn’t hate you…” Sealand gave a tenacious look at his older brother seeing the other’s face guarded. France had even left the kitchen to see the happening.
“I’m really, really sorry England.”
“Well…I guess that’s alright then. I guess I was a bit harsh to you at the meeting.” England scratched the back of his head as if in thought, “…and I guess you can attend them from time to time.”
The rest of the nations and Sealand’s jaws could have dropped to the southern hemisphere; unsure if they had heard it correctly.
“Just don’t cause a fuss alright,” was hasty response coming from the older nation.
“Yes England! You’re the best!” The young boy rushed to England and hugged him tightly. England smiled and patted the other’s head, “I’m serious; if you start annoying the other nations, its out with you.”
“Yes England, whatever you say England.”
The British nation smiled. Feeling a weight in his palm, he looked at his hand and saw a shard of white in his palm catching the morning light and shining brightly; he scoffed to himself and slipped the shard into his pocket, walking to join the other nations in the kitchen.
“So what has the frog conjured up now?”
Voting is now closed.
Please take the time to comment on the fanfic. Thanks.
Author: L. E Trickery
Rating: PG
Prompt: Exploration
Fandom/Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Word Count: 5509 Words
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and solely to their original creator and I do not gain any profits from the story and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Summary: England, after having a fight with Sealand that rekindles past memories decided to drink off his pain but it only creates a weird situation where he must journey through his own mind. But will he escape or not from the corners of his most darkest of doubts.
Daydream Syndrome
The representation and personification of the United Kingdom rubbed at his temples, practically feeling his eyes grow red with exhaustion; it was so near to the end of the meeting and America just had to be the one speaking. If it had been Germany then maybe he could have bared the hour that remained of listening to all the different issues currently plaguing the world. But he could hardly bare to listen to more ridiculous theories of superheroes and hamburgers; not to mention that he had slept much later than what he would have the night before. His patience was much less than the average amount and even that he knew wasn't something to boast about. England checked his watch again for probably the sixth time in the last ten minutes; time wasn’t moving any quicker, not that he expected it to.
He looked over to his notes, he’d usually be scrawling down something but as it was the United States of America speaking, there wasn’t anything worth righting down. Lethargically, he began tapping the end of his pen on the desk, eager to find some way to entertain himself; glancing over to the other nations, they were all pretty much in the same state as he was.
The world wasn’t exactly in the least chaotic state right now. Not with all the drama happening in the Middle East, the Eurozone financial issue was only increasing with the days and North Korea had caused the news to blow up a little while back. And here was America boasting about heroes, England understood that the superpower; America, really thought about these issues, he just wasn’t that good at talking about them when it wasn’t vital or last minute. Despite this, there were occasional moments where the latter nation made sense, occasional being the main word.
England’s head suddenly shot up, he had heard something which he hadn’t heard in a while; a certain obnoxious shuffling from under the table. Maybe it was because he was tired but how could he have not noticed before? He growled under his breath, a couple of the nation’s sitting next to him turning their heads in confusion before he stated with conviction, “Sealand.”
He tapped his foot as he waited for a reaction.
And a reaction he got, it may not have been said particularly loud but it was enough for England to furrow his caterpillar-like eyebrows. Sealand muttered a curse, he was so close to having been through the whole meeting without discovery for once. His frustration was followed by another mutter of, “Jerk England.”
“Sealand, come out of there before I have to bloody drag you out myself.” Britain ordered, his headache only becoming more and more defined.
“No. I don’t belong to you anymore; I don’t have to follow any of your stupid orders!” The young micro nation protested, the table muffling the clarity of the sound.
England sighed, “But honestly is being under the table really that comfortable? These meeting don’t even concern you. Why do you always insist on coming to them?”
Said micro nation crawled out from under the table, his characteristic eyebrows furrowing as he glared at his older brother. “All nations attend these meetings and I’m a nation, so why can’t I?”
“You’re a micro nation.” England emphasised.
“Shut up-”
“Don’t speak to me like that boy!” England shouted suddenly, causing rows of heads to turn their way. They had seen such things before but it was much more interesting than listening to America drabble on.
“Why not? You talk to me like that! All I want to do is to find out about world issues but you don’t even let me go to one meeting.” Sealand yelled.
“You don’t need to know about such details in these meetings. You’re just a boy.”
“I am a nation. Why are you so uptight about these things? You’re such a jerk!”
England suddenly looked around, seeing all the other nations looking at them embarrassment flooded the Brit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I only do this for your benefit, you simply do not need to attend these meetings!”
“No you don’t, you don’t do anything for anyone else except yourself!” the smaller blond huffed being completely and utterly frustrated with his former guardian; he never gave him any opportunities. “You know what England! I’m not surprised all your colonies left you!” England froze, shock intent on his face listening to the boy continue, “You’re such a jerk! They all hate you and just couldn’t stand you that they all had to leave!”
The room was stifled with a choking silence. The once quiet air conditioning became like a siren at the pregnant pause. Other nations froze partially in shock but Sealand continued. “You might have been an empire but the whole world just hates you! Look at all the nations that left you. No wonder you’re so lonely.” Sealand heaved a breath, the rant exuding his energy. His eyes locked onto England’s but seeing the stunned expression, the micro nation realised he had crossed the line. England blinked, the words progressively registering in his mind. Nations closer to the Brit glanced at each other, knowing how sore the topic was for him.
England stood there. He couldn’t move. The words echoed harshly in his mind, Sealand’s insensitive words repeating over and over again but he had to say something. He had to, to show that he wasn’t breaking down inside.
“Well if that’s what you think.” The words fell stickily down his tongue, he was surprised that he didn’t stutter with the feeling that his insides were being sucked out. He licked his dry lips. He didn’t know what to say next, just letting the sentence die there, nodding awkwardly. England noticed that he was standing and returned to his seat; now just simply begging for the meeting to end.
*
England shoved open his door, his body feeling totally physically and emotionally drained; dropping his briefcase and jacket on the back of his couch, loosening his tie as he walked into his kitchen. Instantly, he grabbed a glass of whiskey and drowned the contents, eyes closed at the familiar burn down his throat. He let out a breath. Finally letting the tears run down his cheeks, he drank more of the alcohol; wanting to burn that feeling away.
England sank down onto the floor, the cold tiles only numbing him even more. He muttered things to himself incoherently, his voice coming out in gasps as he sobbed, the strong liquid short-cutting his senses. Throwing the glass away, he grabbed the bottle, drinking straight from it. One hand clenched around the brown tinged glass, the other ruffling his already dishevelled hair. “Of course they all hate me; it’s completely,” he sniffed, “understandable. I mean like, who in hell would like someone like me?”
The Englishman finally dragged himself up from the now meek-warm tiles, drudging his way to his lounge room; the nation stumbling with hazy eyes, hand still holding a bottle though it was a different one, the golden coloured liquid sloshing. Landing on the couch, his bloodshot eyes were still watery but he had long since resigned to just drinking himself out. Britain took another sip of the drink but the words still hadn’t stopped repeating in his mind, only making more memories resurface from whence he buried them in his consciousness. “Well at least I won’t remember anything in the morning.” England drained the last few drops of the whiskey, sighing when he felt the last of the liquid burning down his raw throat.”
“Oh great, now I’m just remembering everything. I guess Sealand was right; everyone just seems to leave me…even if I try to make them stay. I just always end up pushing everyone away.” The blond wanted desperately to go get another bottle to soak up his troubles but he did not have the motivation or the energy to move from his position on the couch, instead he opted to wait for the alcohol to take effect and knock him out from his misery. “I’ve just given up trying I guess…I’m just some pathetic, lonely bastard.”
He could finally feel the fuzziness overriding his mind, everything becoming blurry in the dark room. He had neglected to turn on the lights and the darkness seeped at the edges of his sight. Everything turned topsy-turvy and upside down before he closed his eyes. Giving up the instinctual battle to keep awake, the aftertaste of the alcohol tingled at his tastebuds.
Had he just imagined the click of the front door? It didn’t matter anyway, because at that moment he would succumb to the oblivion that was his own mind.
*
France always had the keys to England’s place; the opposite was the same even though the two would never admit to it. He had seen the fight at the meeting today and even he could feel pity for his greatest enemy, having raised a couple of colonies himself. If someone had ever directed that insult to him he would feel himself collapse and could only imagine what the other was feeling right now. It was only to be expected what would happen when he had opened the door. The stench of alcohol wafted in the air, “I should have expected this…”
The Frenchman walked cautiously into the room, England was…unpredictable when drunk but he suspected that he would only be extremely depressed tonight; he probably wouldn’t have the energy to do anything else. Seeing the fuzzy mop of hair lying on the couch, bottle lopsided on the floor, he felt relief flood him; at least he was asleep. It was tiresome to deal with any sort of drunk England at any time of day. Walking closer to his fellow nation he rolled his eyes at the expression that England had on his face, he always looked so different when he slept, that fact hadn’t changed since the short days when they were young and free of responsibility.
Slipping his hands under the younger nation, he carried him up; arching his own neck to look at the steps as he climbed up the stairs, not wanting to trip holding the other. France nudged the door to the bedroom with his foot, walking into the simple room. The windows were open and the curtains glowed a white similar to the light of when a sculpture has been carved so thin that the light just manages to seep through. Putting the sleeping Brit on the barely creased sheets, he closed the window, a small smile etching on his lips when he could hear the other turn in his sleep. France absentmindedly ruffled the other’s hair before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.
*
England blinked his eyes open; white overwhelming his senses, a hand instinctively coming to shield his vision, wondering when his eyes would finally focus. His head was unusually clear for a hangover but he wasn’t complaining. He squinted, everything was still white. It was then that it dawned on him, he had already gotten used to the level of light, it was just that everything was white, just an endless expanse of the colour. He took a few steps, gazing at the floor below him; there wasn’t any echo; only a windless void of white. “Either I’m dead or I’m having a really weird dream.”
He noticed that the sound of his voice wavered in the atmosphere for a few seconds before just dying out; it was a weird sensation. He stared determinedly into the distance to find any sort of edge or crevice or shadow to the unending whiteness. But there wasn’t anything and staring at it hoping it would change wasn’t going to get him anywhere; it just blended together until it made him dizzy to keep concentrating on the same space. England pursed his lips, he felt oddly transparent like any small murmur of movement could cause him to fall apart, and he had no feeling of time whatsoever. Taking a random step in the direction he was facing, he started walking; there had to be something in this odd whiteness.
There was no particular source of light, light was everywhere, coming in from all angles. An all-consuming world of white and scattering; the only thing he could compare it to was that if he was a leaf in the wind with no choice or understanding of his path or what his fate would be. He felt no time but he felt lighter than he had ever been, he could just start flying. He felt as if everything had been washed off; all the stress and worries that had been plaguing him for hundreds of years.
How many steps had he taken? How far was he from his starting point? Was there really any point in walking? But he didn’t feel any sort of exhaustion; England shoved his hands into his pockets and continued walking, it wouldn’t do any harm to continue walking, after all if there wasn’t any point in doing it then was there any point in not doing it?
“I can only explore to achieve some sort of logical knowledge…” England chuckled to himself, “Such a limbo reminds me of my time at sea. Now that I think about it, it’s not that different. Gambling everything for the sake of curiosity, I guess that’s what exploration is isn’t it?” He asked himself, leaning backwards as he walked towards whoever knew where. “A way to satisfy our never-ending curiosity.”
He sighed, “I miss the age of discovery.”
For some reason, England noted, he had started to walk faster; hands no longer in his pockets but held on his side. Feeling an odd presence behind him, he looked behind, the blond slowing down to a halt. He scrutinized the rough area of the feeling behind him, raising an eyebrow when he saw a sort of crack in the whiteness. Tilting his head to gaze at the imbalance in the scenery, he retracted his head and took a few steps back when suddenly realising the crack was growing, or more accurately, breaking apart. The white floor broke into pieces like a puzzle thrown off the table it was originally built on and then started to be sucked up by a luminescent black hole.
“Shit.” He muttered under his breath before he turned and broke into a run, not knowing the effect of the collapse but the fear of the unknown causing him to turn tail and sprint anywhere away from the growing destruction. There was no sound to the falling apart of the void, no ominous cracking or a shattering akin to glass; just noiseless disintegration.
England continued running, he didn’t know why but he just did. In a weird sense it mirrored the adrenaline feeling of when he was a pirate and he had been trapped by storms. He felt exhilarated, scared but euphoric with energy and purpose. And for an instant he was back in the past. Sailing before a wave three times the height of his ship, barking orders at his crew, eyes filled with an electric fire as his existence was weighed on the balance scales of life and death.
He sprinted, dashed, ran; almost able to feel the sea spray on his face once again. Looking back again he saw only the expanse of destruction increase, catching up to him. Snapping his head back in front, he spied other cracks opening in front of him as well. He was trapped, but the resolution caused no fear to instil within him. Only more excitement. His mind put sound to the destruction rushing towards him.
He looked down at the endless expanse that the white floor was falling into like shards of glass. Splinters of white fell from above him as well as around him until all he could see was the uneven broken shattering of the world around him. A smile stretched on his face as he felt the last of the sturdy white before he fell backwards into the multi-coloured emptiness. He felt the rush of falling dragging him down to some unknown source of gravity, the shards of white perishing to dust around him and the darkness intensifying in depth until it consumed him whole. With the heaviness surrounding him, England could only recall an interesting theory of dark matter before he and his senses were swallowed.
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland sat up. Well at least there was a floor in this void. But this time he could only see blackness around him in contrast to the white world he was in before. In the previous world he had felt transparent but now he felt weighed down, like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. The pressure of everything seemingly directed at him; the presence never leaving him but he stumbled up and walked. A much more insistent fear surrounded him now, maybe it was just that it was entirely black. All things bright and empty were absent and had been sucked away or consumed by the darkness.
“I wonder where I am now.” England tried out his voice in this new world, the sound travelled around him seeming like it resonated into the unknown with an echo trailing forever and forever until its path was lost to England. This place was like the polar opposite to the other world. While the other was absent of substance, this place was filled with it. It was a gooey world with all the substance and gravity that the other world didn’t have, lacking all light. Every step was a trial; an unsure step would cause him to drown in black, choking him. It was like water.
“I’m good at hiding my fear of water; I’ve sailed and conquered the seven seas themselves but I never looked down into the sea itself.” England looked down at the black, “That depth, that fear that if I ever became swallowed by it I would be forgotten and lost. Not only just dead but all essence of me disappearing without the knowledge of other people, without making any sort of impact on the world I had seen before me was terrifying. Forgotten and alone.” England gulped, the words had clogged his throat and now they just hung around him, adding to the weight on him.
“Being isolated can really do that to you.” The Englishman looked out at the expanse, telling himself that it was the same as the white world but only black, physically it would be the same; that the fear was only an illusion created by himself. “But that’s another reason for exploration isn’t it? If we are alone we look for something to tell us that we aren’t, that there’s something else. Some sort of purpose that we can look forward to.”
He continued, not knowing where he was going even less then when he was in the white expanse; wondering which one would be worse to be stuck for eternity in. Time warped around him so that he felt like it had been days on end. It was torturous that he could not stop walking. He simply felt no need to stop, but continuing walking only made him feel worse, like he was indeed forever stuck at the bottom of the sea.
“Please give me something to look to, any sort of light or beacon. Give me a purpose.” England whispered into the darkness, the effects on his mind causing him mental exhaustion though his physical state was fine. “I don’t want to feel this again. Not anymore.”
He turned his head trying to find some sort of sign in the black, scrunching his forehead when he saw a twinkle of light in the distance. It sat there obnoxiously like it had always been there or maybe it had and England just didn’t notice it before. But a tingling in the back of his mind said it had just appeared then. That was another factor of the encompassing darkness, he could never be sure of something. Shrugging he walked towards the light, but each step only brought him one step further from the light. England heaved a frustrated sigh before he started to run towards the light. He wanted to get there. Just one step closer would make him happy but nothing was working. He remained the same distance away from it, but it was more like he had just gone further away from the light than where he originally started.
Groaning, he sat down pathetically on the spot where he was standing. He flexed his fingers before he started strategising a way to reach the light. However, there wasn’t any way to get to that light. If every step just brought him further away from it then what was the point? It was his life itself. Every effort made to try getting closer to other nations would only push them away; his island was forever isolated from everybody else. He held his head in his hands, messing up his hair as the confusion racked over his brain. He could try travelling away from the light purposely, but these sorts of worlds had a way of tricking you. He had to give up the sense of reality, space or time; all those concepts had just been created by humans, he had watched enough of Doctor Who to realise several things.
“I am bloody Great Britain for god’s sake, the once called empire on which the sun never set. I am going to get to that light if it’s the last thing I bloody do.” England stood up with a new conviction and he started sprinting again towards the light. The sensation that he was running through treacle not slowing him down, causing him only to push himself further. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut as he reached out unconsciously.
A yelp of surprise escaped him as he abruptly felt all the previous weights unexpectedly leave him and he fell forwards onto a black floor. He no longer felt like he was about to bust because of conflicting pressures. England looked behind him, seeing the first physical object he had seen in both of the worlds. The jelly-like shape looming above was a black but a black darker than the dimension; it was glossy and sticky looking and it made him feel sick. There was no shape to describe it, it only extended and grew all over with spikes and tentacles; a forgotten, pitiful bulbous growth of blackness. He did not want to continue looking at the thing; it only made him nauseous. Breathing heavily he looked down, onto a shard of light.
“Bloody hell.” He gave a drained but relieved smile, squatting down to examine the white-ish shard. Leaning over to pick it up in his hand, shocked to find it didn’t have any weight at all. The light blinded him, the sort of blindness you get from looking at the sun directly for too long, but the Brit didn’t mind.
A sound alerted him to the revolting growth behind him, the structure starting to shake and stretch. The whole world started to tremor before England but he clutched onto the shard before him, his fingers tightening around the weightless source of light; the shaking only increasing until it resembled an earth quake. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw the black structure burst with massive intensity. It disintegrated from top to bottom, the explosion akin to a volcano with a little too much gas. Explosions erupting everywhere, England grabbed the shard of light so tight that if it had been glass his hands would’ve been covered in blood.
The growth lost its structure and started to collapse, breaking down into a tsunami of waxy jelly, sloshing it’s way too England, the Brit turning away before he was overrun by the wave. He caught his last glimpse of the shard of light before it blinked away completely. England stood in shock; stationary in the chaos, the light leaving his hands as he grimly looked back to see the black gluey substance about to engulf him. Closing his eyes in resignation, he waited for it to come.
But nothing came over him, so England wrenched his eyes open to see the wave of darkness rush past him transforming into a sparks of light after passing him. He gazed up seeing the spurs of light fly around him and land in the darkness, illuminating the black liquidly ‘sky’ if he could call it that. Each of the sparks collided into what looked like a dome of a pitch black sea and locked themselves into place before growing in brightness. England gaped up at the sky, his eyes wide as if he was a child again, looking for the first time at the night sky. The universe mounted before him in all its blunt greatness and never ending vastness; the sparks of light that came from the growth shining as brightly as any of the stars. England couldn’t help but let a smile slip across his face, the wave of lights still continuing to surround him. He reached out to one of the flying sparks, its vividness reflecting on his eyes as he tapped it with his finger. His mind swiftly became overwhelmed with memories.
The Englishman stood there dazed in a memory that was long forgotten, a memory where he and a few nations had wandered into a park at night on a search for Italy. It was a brilliant night and the sky stood out to him most. It wasn’t something new to notice but it seemed to amaze him. He had gazed out to the constellations so stunning from his pirate days.
The memory suddenly switched gears and he was standing on his pirate ship once again, his boots clacking on the deck. Staring up at the sky, he looked at the same constellations to lead him home after a long, tiring voyage.
He snapped out of the vision, his other hand instantly tapping another spark; another memory consuming him. He was playing tag with a young Canada and America, after being chased and tackled by both, they all looked towards the sky at all the stars; feeling how small they really were compared to the rest of the universe. Everyday day after that he continued to see those stars reflected in both of their eyes.
Another memory shot at him. During the chaos of world war one there was always one battle he remembered. That night, the sky had stretched over the Christmas night and it wasn’t bogged down in ominous clouds for once. In a last ditch effort to celebrate the holiday, he and Germany and their forces had played soccer into the night. Even for one night, they wished desperately to forget the burdens of the war and the depression that all the countries faced in the darkness of conflict and death. It had been a good night that he would always bear in mind, a shared thought by both sides with a common goal; victory for their nations. Who knew what the fate of their people would be after that moment, but it was a moment that they all shared and it would be remembered in history. Friendships were made that night and it was merely England’s wishful thinking that those friendships would have lasted.
The moment when the Second World War had ended his nation erupted into a victorious shout of happiness and relief. His streets were alive, especially after the long years that they all had endured; it gave him goose bumps and brought him to tears. For that single moment, he could feel his whole nation share a single heartbeat, a single notion, a single moment where they all held the same thought and a smile.
England let the memory pass, coming up with another one back in the folds of history itself, it was at the edge of dawn where the imprints of the stars were barely visible. He had found a comfortable spot in the crevice of France’s collar bone. It was ages before the battles, war and unrest; a time where they were both still friends, where they could talk, smile and laugh together without any worries or burdens. He used to pretend he was asleep and would feel the ghosting impressions of France’s hands in his hair. It was a time when they were truly happy.
England sighed with a content smile on his face, entering a couple more memories and grabbing a few of the sparks dancing around him. He could see all the memories in his life flashing before him; all the great and sad moments folding up into a radiant sphere. The darkness and light combined together and he let one last spark land in his hand, closing his eyes to fall into the memory. He couldn’t remember when or why but he was with all the nations. He could see his former colonies and his previous enemies and allies and for one lost second they all shared a single purpose. They shared a driving force that humanity always faced and euphoric happiness that needed no expressing or no need of mentioning of. He could see it in the eyes of the others, everyone had what they held dear to them and though there might have been differences there was always the same feeling of life and purpose; of curiosity and the need to seek knowledge; to find out, to feel, to be happy; to explore.
To understand.
England held the shard close to him letting the edges of darkness and light blend together so that there wasn’t any difference. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall through his consciousness; the illusions of his mind and all the boundaries he created to later destroy. Reality was a human concept after all and any sort of exploration was the extended exploration of the mind and the illusions it created. But who could say that illusions were not reality if reality was all just illusions. And with a smile England; Arthur Kirkland; woke up to his own illusion of reality.
*
England stretched his arms, he didn’t have a head ache luckily and he doubted if he could handle one after what he had been through. It was strange though, he always had a headache after drinking himself to oblivion. Even more surprisingly was that he just couldn’t stop smiling; shaking his head he got up from his bed. It was funny, he didn’t remember going to the bedroom, but he usually forgot such details. Stretching again he walked down, the scent of freshly cooked breakfast wafting and delighting his senses. Once he had caught the smell he realised why he had woken up in the bed.
“Good morning, France.”
The French nation looked surprised and greeted him from over his shoulder before returning his concentration onto his cooking again. Wondering why the other seemed like he was in such a good mood.
“Hey, Iggy don’t forget about me.” A certain boisterous voice called.
England rolled his eyes, “Now why are you here America?”
“America and I brought Sealand over for him to apologise for what he said to you at the meeting.” Canada stated, next to his brother, dragging out a nervous Sealand avoiding all eye contact. America nudged the young nation in the back with an odd hardness and smiled at him with his classic American smile.
“Well…” Sealand fiddled with his fingers, unable to look into the British nation’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry for saying those things to you England. Everyone doesn’t hate you…” Sealand gave a tenacious look at his older brother seeing the other’s face guarded. France had even left the kitchen to see the happening.
“I’m really, really sorry England.”
“Well…I guess that’s alright then. I guess I was a bit harsh to you at the meeting.” England scratched the back of his head as if in thought, “…and I guess you can attend them from time to time.”
The rest of the nations and Sealand’s jaws could have dropped to the southern hemisphere; unsure if they had heard it correctly.
“Just don’t cause a fuss alright,” was hasty response coming from the older nation.
“Yes England! You’re the best!” The young boy rushed to England and hugged him tightly. England smiled and patted the other’s head, “I’m serious; if you start annoying the other nations, its out with you.”
“Yes England, whatever you say England.”
The British nation smiled. Feeling a weight in his palm, he looked at his hand and saw a shard of white in his palm catching the morning light and shining brightly; he scoffed to himself and slipped the shard into his pocket, walking to join the other nations in the kitchen.
“So what has the frog conjured up now?”
Voting is now closed.
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