The Companion (1/??)
anonymous
March 29 2010, 21:35:57 UTC
America laughed into the night air of the new year. The streets still glimmered slightly from spots of confetti that had been tossed out a few nights previous. Everything felt fresh and wonderfully clean. The USSR had fallen for good, and citizens of all nations over the world rejoiced.
There had been so many faces, happy, crying with joy, elated in their deserved freedom. America strolled through the empty park as he recalled the flood of emotions that had resulted. And with such perfect timing the fall had come, ushering in a new year where people had hope.
He pulled a clear baggy of goldfish crackers out of his pocket before sitting on a park bench. First, their little tails were nipped off, then their bodies consumed whole. America beamed in the darkness, feeling that he could take on the rest of the world's problems now, banish them as easily as he banished little cheddar fish to his stomach.
Russia's morbid expression came to his mind, and he laughed again, loud and booming. He had looked pathetic. In the days of the new year America had only seen him during once, during the yearly meeting the nations held to discuss their projects and objectives for the year to come.
When it came time for Russia to speak, his sole response had been a low grunt. No one pressed him for more. America had been very tempted to, though.
Something about the twist of Russia's lips, whether they were up or down America could not tell, had caused America's mind to form a barrage of mean-spirited jabs. But he refrained, knowing that England would throw a folder or two at his face if he spoke.
America continued to muse on the subject of Russia's presence at the meeting as he closed his eyes, head tilting back to rest on the wooden planks of the bench. He visualized Russia's face again and again, settling that it had been a kind of smiling frown upon his lips. Russia could do impossible things like that.
America continued to pick at the mental image he had of Russia on that day. Russia had been shaking, his shoulders trembling, but there was nothing fearful or worried about the movements. It looked to America as if Russia had the shakes of one who has an amazing idea they are attempting to keep under wraps, but their body is desperately trying to betray them.
He opened his eyes and frowned. Russia really hadn't looked funny at all that day. Not apologetic, not scary, but... something so entirely different that it made America's heart quake to think about it.
Shaking his head of the troubling thoughts regarding Russia, America opened his eyes and looked around. It was too late for anyone to be out, that was why he had come. The stillness of the air and the vast emptiness of the park in the night was a comfort to him. Or at least, it usually was.
Now all America wanted was to be talking to someone, anyone, if only to find a new thread of thought to follow.
The flood of sweeping headlights powered along the street, and America lazily watched the path it illuminated. He wondered if it was a kindred spirit driving along, sharing the same love of the night. It would be too weird to flag the driver down and try to be friendly, but America hummed happily to himself at the thought of doing so.
Once the car had pulled around the corner, America placed the remaining goldfish back into his pocket, replacing them with a small book of crossword puzzles. He glanced through the pages, most of them half-filled, some of them completely finished. None that he hadn't already started and gotten stumped with.
The flicker of wild eyes caught America's vision. He peered into the distance, squinting from where the flash had come from. It had been fleeting, the eyes, like those of an animal that had had a flashlight shone on them. America figured it must be a stray dog.
He wasn't terribly big on stray dogs. They had huge mouths, and even larger bodies. It was always a possibility that they would bite him, and while he knew it wasn't as if a simple animal could kill him, he did not relish how much pain an attack would probably bring.
There had been so many faces, happy, crying with joy, elated in their deserved freedom. America strolled through the empty park as he recalled the flood of emotions that had resulted. And with such perfect timing the fall had come, ushering in a new year where people had hope.
He pulled a clear baggy of goldfish crackers out of his pocket before sitting on a park bench. First, their little tails were nipped off, then their bodies consumed whole. America beamed in the darkness, feeling that he could take on the rest of the world's problems now, banish them as easily as he banished little cheddar fish to his stomach.
Russia's morbid expression came to his mind, and he laughed again, loud and booming. He had looked pathetic. In the days of the new year America had only seen him during once, during the yearly meeting the nations held to discuss their projects and objectives for the year to come.
When it came time for Russia to speak, his sole response had been a low grunt. No one pressed him for more. America had been very tempted to, though.
Something about the twist of Russia's lips, whether they were up or down America could not tell, had caused America's mind to form a barrage of mean-spirited jabs. But he refrained, knowing that England would throw a folder or two at his face if he spoke.
America continued to muse on the subject of Russia's presence at the meeting as he closed his eyes, head tilting back to rest on the wooden planks of the bench. He visualized Russia's face again and again, settling that it had been a kind of smiling frown upon his lips. Russia could do impossible things like that.
America continued to pick at the mental image he had of Russia on that day. Russia had been shaking, his shoulders trembling, but there was nothing fearful or worried about the movements. It looked to America as if Russia had the shakes of one who has an amazing idea they are attempting to keep under wraps, but their body is desperately trying to betray them.
He opened his eyes and frowned. Russia really hadn't looked funny at all that day. Not apologetic, not scary, but... something so entirely different that it made America's heart quake to think about it.
Shaking his head of the troubling thoughts regarding Russia, America opened his eyes and looked around. It was too late for anyone to be out, that was why he had come. The stillness of the air and the vast emptiness of the park in the night was a comfort to him. Or at least, it usually was.
Now all America wanted was to be talking to someone, anyone, if only to find a new thread of thought to follow.
The flood of sweeping headlights powered along the street, and America lazily watched the path it illuminated. He wondered if it was a kindred spirit driving along, sharing the same love of the night. It would be too weird to flag the driver down and try to be friendly, but America hummed happily to himself at the thought of doing so.
Once the car had pulled around the corner, America placed the remaining goldfish back into his pocket, replacing them with a small book of crossword puzzles. He glanced through the pages, most of them half-filled, some of them completely finished. None that he hadn't already started and gotten stumped with.
The flicker of wild eyes caught America's vision. He peered into the distance, squinting from where the flash had come from. It had been fleeting, the eyes, like those of an animal that had had a flashlight shone on them. America figured it must be a stray dog.
He wasn't terribly big on stray dogs. They had huge mouths, and even larger bodies. It was always a possibility that they would bite him, and while he knew it wasn't as if a simple animal could kill him, he did not relish how much pain an attack would probably bring.
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