[Part 2] UK-->US, UK obsesses and rapes US – Listen (2/5)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 02:09:19 UTC
two. records.
“Wh-Why won’t you listen to me?”
“You’re too controlling! What’s with these things anyway?!” America tosses my sheets - records - across my desk and study. Picks one up, “‘Obedience?’” and tosses it. “‘With others!’” Tosses, steps on. “‘Visits me!’” Rips in half and the pieces land to the floor. “‘Eats my food,’ ‘sleeps with me,’ ‘does his work,’ ‘plays video games,’ ‘eats hamburgers,’ ‘has coffee,’ ‘smiles at me,’ ‘falls asleep during meetings’ - seriously, England! What the hell are these?!” His face is so red, heated and angry. My poor child.
I reach a hand out to grab my records, but he steps back, brows furrowed and teeth bared - too wild, unrelenting, please just submit. (I won’t keep these anymore if you will… please?)
“No.” Pauses. “Get rid of these, England… they’re weird.” He looks to the scattered papers on the floor. ‘Being stupid.’ ‘Cute.’ ‘Fights.’ ‘Gifts.’ ‘Tea-time.’ ‘Watch movie.’ ‘Take a walk.’ His eye catches a paper, I see it too, but I back away when he moves to pick it up. It’s turned around and he points to the category: ‘injuries.’ “This, England. Why do you keep this?” A growl.
I look to the side, feeling hot, tugging at my green sweater vest. “I-In case I have to treat a cut or bruise…”
“Oh. Like this one here?” America grimaces as he points to the cut on the corner of his mouth. I stare blankly at him.
“That was an accident.”
“When you slapped me, your nail cut my mouth. Even if it was an accident, you still haven’t treated it.”
Because you deserve it.
A thick silence.
America’s body shrinks with a heavy sigh. His attention is directed to the window pouring in white light. “England… Just get rid of these.”
“Wh-Why won’t you listen to me?”
“You’re too controlling! What’s with these things anyway?!” America tosses my sheets - records - across my desk and study. Picks one up, “‘Obedience?’” and tosses it. “‘With others!’” Tosses, steps on. “‘Visits me!’” Rips in half and the pieces land to the floor. “‘Eats my food,’ ‘sleeps with me,’ ‘does his work,’ ‘plays video games,’ ‘eats hamburgers,’ ‘has coffee,’ ‘smiles at me,’ ‘falls asleep during meetings’ - seriously, England! What the hell are these?!” His face is so red, heated and angry. My poor child.
I reach a hand out to grab my records, but he steps back, brows furrowed and teeth bared - too wild, unrelenting, please just submit. (I won’t keep these anymore if you will… please?)
“No.” Pauses. “Get rid of these, England… they’re weird.” He looks to the scattered papers on the floor. ‘Being stupid.’ ‘Cute.’ ‘Fights.’ ‘Gifts.’ ‘Tea-time.’ ‘Watch movie.’ ‘Take a walk.’ His eye catches a paper, I see it too, but I back away when he moves to pick it up. It’s turned around and he points to the category: ‘injuries.’ “This, England. Why do you keep this?” A growl.
I look to the side, feeling hot, tugging at my green sweater vest. “I-In case I have to treat a cut or bruise…”
“Oh. Like this one here?” America grimaces as he points to the cut on the corner of his mouth. I stare blankly at him.
“That was an accident.”
“When you slapped me, your nail cut my mouth. Even if it was an accident, you still haven’t treated it.”
Because you deserve it.
A thick silence.
America’s body shrinks with a heavy sigh. His attention is directed to the window pouring in white light. “England… Just get rid of these.”
“I will.”
I won’t.
Reply
Leave a comment